“Me oh my / I found you under an April sky / And you feel like / City life, apple pie baked just right / Home is wherever you are tonight.”

I want a ‘57 Chevy Bel Air so I can drive down backroads with you in the car we first bonded over—the wind blowing our hair back, laughing breathlessly at each other’s stupid remarks and the things we haven’t yet done. 

I want to have a day that I can spend solely with you, not worrying about any of my worldly troubles and basking in the comfort of being in your presence. 

I want to listen to Lizzie McAlpine’s “Apple Pie” with you for the first time again. It’s always precious to me, but that first time on the drive home from Culver’s was the moment I realized just how special it’d become to me. 

How special you’d become to me.

It’s such a cliche, and that bothers me. 

The fact that the only way I can effectively express the true joy I’ve felt in the past month is through overused tropes that sometimes can’t be taken seriously.

But, it doesn’t matter how many people read this and only hear a stereotype, because the right ones will hear it for what it is: an accolade of sorts.

I may not have as many designer brands strewn across my closet or as much money in my bank account as some other people I know, but I have so much to be grateful for in this life. 

I have so much love in my life, now. I can be a child again, with you all: the people I’ve grown to care so deeply about in such a short time.

I can run around the toy aisles in Meijer with you, looking through the Barbie dolls and doubling over with the contagious, guttural laughter that physically hurts after a few seconds over things that aren’t even funny. 

I can sit in a park with you and people-watch for hours while talking about life and family and all of the things we want to do together. 

The child in me feels safe near you—maybe it’s because we act like children together, or maybe, it’s just the comfort I associate with you.

There’s a purity in you all that I haven’t been able to find before. Not truly. 

The thing about me is that I’ve always been the one to care too much about everything and everyone. 

This is the first time I’ve not worried about the way I’m perceived by strangers. This is the first time I’ve been comfortable in my skin, despite my scars. 

This is the first time I’ve looked at myself and known that there are people who care about me. 

I’ve always known, but I’ve never felt secure in that knowledge until now. 

And, even if it doesn’t last forever, I’m more than thankful to have known this feeling. 

Everybody should know this feeling at some point in their life. 

Having people who are the purest embodiments of the things I need in my world has been one of the most fulfilling experiences of my life. 

Because I’ve finally realized how to classify the feelings you all give me—the people who have just entered my life in a moment that I’d feared would be fleeting—and the effect you’ve had on me in such a short time.

They weren’t fleeting like before. The moments turned to minutes and the minutes turned to hours and the hours turned into days, and I hope that those days can turn into an eternity. 

Because I’ve found it. 

My apple pie.

And, finally, it’s been baked just right.