Let Me Count The Ways

Ways People Say "I Love You," Without Actually Saying "I Love You"

I miss you.

Be careful.

Call me when you get there.

It's so good to see you.

I'm always here if you need me.

I wish you were here.

Have fun!

I'm so proud of you.

Thank you for always being there when I need you.

I just want to understand.

How are you, really?

I believe in you.

I'm always here to listen.

I'll stay as long as you need me.

I'm so happy you're in my life.

Make sure you wear your seat belt.

Do you need anything?

Text me so I know you made it home safe.

You mean the world to me.

I'll be thinking of you.

Thanks for listening.

Are you having a good time?

I don't know what I would do without you.

You're the best.

You always know how to make me laugh.

How can I help?

I'm so glad I met you.

I hope you feel better.

I read this poem and it made me think of you.

You're my favorite.

Stay safe.

I'm not going anywhere.

Love & Chaos,
Sam

A Poem For When The Air Conditioner Has Stopped Working

The air conditioner upstairs
has stopped working.
It is August,
your windows are open,
and it is hot.
You lie on the floor of your bedroom
trying not to move.
If you move, you sweat,
so you lie still.
The breeze that sweeps through your open window
offers little relief,
but it brings with it something familiar.
It brings the scent of soft grass and lazy afternoons.
The bright, hot stillness of the last few days of summer,
the melancholy feeling that something is ending.
It brings your mind back to other days spent in this slow heat,
to books read while lying on your stomach atop your bed
with your feet in the air.
To stories full of adventure and love and the girl you used to be,
who used to read them
and believe them.
A girl who loved the smell of open windows and warm breezes,
who lived her life by the pages of books she read in summer.
You lie still in the heat of your bedroom,
remembering this girl
you thought you had lost.
But every now and then
(if you're lucky) 
you find her.
In the pages of the books you read.
In the smell that wafts through an open window in late summer.
In the heat of your bedroom on a Sunday in August.
And tomorrow a man is coming to fix the air conditioner.

-Samantha Lee