I was gifted a book for Christmas by a close friend. "The Piano Tuner." I suppose one could read it for all sorts of reasons and notice all sorts of things. What I noticed most sharply though, was the love story. I won't go into all the details, but suffice to say it has some poignant, touching scenes. And the story isn't even a love story, but more of a retrospective critique of British imperialism framed in fiction.

Maybe this is all just a sign that I am in love. It's not that I feel I'm still in that honeymoon phase. There are sometimes dark clouds and bad thoughts about how the whole thing makes me just a vulnerable mess but honestly, I'm here and evidently not leaving. So I love boy. Yeah, he's on my mind in spare moments, and in my happiest ones too. I guess I know it's real when I realize that I never have to talk to anyone else about anything. There's also this vague sense of everything being "right" in the world when I'm with him. He is probably the only one in the world who can calm me down, and he does. He does all he can for me, and sometimes I see the struggle of what would be easiest and what would be the greatest expression of his feelings on his face, but when it matters, i suppose he puts me first. He listens to me, too and takes to heart what I say. I do the same, as far as I know, but you never notice this within yourself so much as you do your beloved; I suppose on the whole you may more attention to them than you do yourself. Merry Christmas, baby.

You are special because:
-You don't care even though I insulate my own windows and have a man's wallet with no change purse.