Tiny Love Stories: ‘If You’re Reading This, Nick, I Love You’


It’s that point once more. How do I know? Because of that previous string of purple chili pepper lights from Albuquerque. We purchased them greater than 30 years in the past for our first Christmas collectively, but each a kind of chilies nonetheless lights up when I plug them in. He’s been gone six years now. Our love died earlier than he did, not less than formally, in accordance with the divorce decree. But each Christmas, similar to the purple chili peppers, my coronary heart glows purple and I bear in mind him. — Marla West


She stated she understood why we couldn’t spend Christmas collectively. I despatched her so many “I miss you” texts. “Your parents will come around someday,” she replied. She spent the day alone in our house, not texting me a lot so I wouldn’t sense her unhappiness. I sensed it anyway. So I stated an early goodbye to my household in Kentucky and drove 7 and a half hours again to Iowa, arriving in time to sleep subsequent to her below our string lights. That is when I realized what actually issues on a day like Christmas: being across the particular person you’re keen on most. — Amanda Hancock


The first Christmas we had been newly relationship, and I was certain we might be head over heels in love quickly. The second Christmas got here throughout our relationship low: I was upset that we had by no means used the “L” phrase. I turned obsessive about this “saying ‘I love you’ thing,” measuring our relationship towards its nonexistence, sure I wouldn’t carry him, absent these phrases, to a 3rd Christmas at my mother and father’ house. But I couldn’t abide by my very own ultimatum. I don’t need to be with out him. If you’re studying this, Nick, I love you. — Tara Wilson


At house over winter break, I open the field of relics from my first relationship. There are sheafs of handwritten notes, handpicked flowers painted gold, Christmas songs and brass trumpets and photographs of excessive schoolers resplendent in purple and inexperienced polo shirts, standing amongst faux Christmas bushes and cotton-ball snow. I learn by means of love letters signed with hopeful endings, sonnets expressing emotions that we weren’t prepared to specific ourselves. Sitting in my childhood room, I marvel at these treasured recollections flooding again. This, in itself, is a present. — Marissa Young



Source link Nytimes.com

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