I love you a bushel. But just a bushel; I don’t love you a peck. I don’t like telling you this, because I know that peck is important to you, but I can’t lie to you. I mean, I love you a bushel. A bushel is still a lot, right? Do you really need that peck?
I know you do. And I’m sorry. I really am sorry. If I could love you that additional peck, I would do it in a heartbeat, but I don’t think I’m capable of it. I’m sure you know how hard even this much is for me. I’ve never loved anyone a bushel before. I mean, five or six gallons, sure. Plenty of times, in fact. But I’ve never reached a full bushel until you.
I hope you won’t begrudge me that peck.
Maybe you have a different idea on what a bushel is, precisely. Maybe my bushel is larger than yours. Maybe instead of these arbitrary measurements, I should tell you what I mean when I say that I love you a bushel.
I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to see you every morning when I wake up, and every evening when I come home. I don’t want a day to go by where I do not hear your voice. You make me want to sing music. You make me want to write music. I’m a different person when I’m around you, and I like that person better. And I wish the me that I am when I am around you is the only me that ever existed.
Whenever I’m near you, I want to wrap you up in a hug so that you will always be near me. But a normal hug. Around the shoulders, not around the neck. I’m not sure why you like doing that so much, but I can’t handle it. It’s something I’m willing to work on, though, if that’s what you need.
Because I love you a bushel.