John Nathan

I have always found that it can be the smallest things that make you feel loved and tonight, as I watched John rub my feet on the couch, just like he had done all the nights before, those small things began to ripple through my mind. He leaves the mail in the mailbox even though he beats me home because he knows that I love to be the first one with my hands on it. Every time we go to Sonic or Shoguns he passes me his cherry. There is more than once, in a pinch, he has let me blow my nose on his t-shirt. Don't ask. He will do plies with me in the living room or play soccer with me in the kitchen. In the car he sings along with me and steals my harmonies because it makes me laugh. He will shop with me for clothes, even though I know he hates it, just to steer me away from shiny green shirts and the off brown pants that you can't find a shirt to match. Really he just comes because he knows I like him there. He knows my regular meal from every fast food restaurant and will drive 20 minutes to Poblano's if I can think of nothing but fajita take out. He pushes me to run even when I give him crap back because he knows I will feel better if I do. When I felt defeated, he took me out and walked behind me, taking off in a run himself when I was about to give up. He fills my car with gas when I have driven back and forth to work with the light on...twice. He lets me pretend I am going to get up at 6 even though he knows he will be getting out of bed to hit the snooze 5 times. He tells me when his friends laugh at my evaluation of the idiot thing they have done just to let me feel funny. When I am down he will start in with "Come sing of belle and beau..." without me having to ask. He always stops to let me sing the verse with "lobsters in the kitchen", even though those aren't the right words. He will watch Enchanted with me and tell me that he believes I will one day have my own "everyone randomly starts singing about what they are doing" moment. He knows that I want my own "everyone randomly starts singing about what they are doing" moment. He remembers that my best friend in sixth grade was named Pooja. He hasn't once been upset when my phobia of breathing carbon dioxide wakes him up in the middle of the night to make him roll over. I can't breathe carbon dioxide. I am not a tree. He loves all those that I love and would give all that he could spare and then more if they needed it. We all want to be loved. To know it and to feel it. As I sit here tonight I do.