Perhaps...

...you need to be listening to Dave Matthews' "Some Devil". Maybe you need to have had a couple of glasses of Mt. Boucherie Gamay Noir. I don't know what it is. It's a mixture of the happiness that he exhibited when I suggested an impromptu tour of the outskirts of North Vancouver given a blowout that occurred during the Supra days when we were flying along some road in Pemberton and I was sunburned and tired and impatient. And then we didn't find what we were looking for on our current ambling expedition, but we did find this pub he had been meaning to show me but had "lost" later on. And then it's this $50 bet at Gardenworks as to what the wall on my balcony is made of. For some reason I'm almost willing to bet the farm that it's concrete. We're trying to figure out what kind of plants to get. Then, just kicking around Edgemont I decide I need to go into the wine shop there and there are several varietals of Soaring Eagle which I'm pretty sure I've mentioned before: it's the winery that was once owned by Michael's sister's boyfriend of many years. Michael and I and his mom and sister went there for a tasting when we were up for the Okanagan Marathon. Anyways, I had this Pinot Meunier and it was fantastic and I bought a bottle and I drank it a couple of months ago and it was delectable, but I felt bad because I wanted to keep the reds that I had paid a handsome fee for on reserve for a special occasion and since then there has been a conspicuous absence in my six pack wine rack, but then there's the bottle right in front of me and oh my god, I've been given a chance to replace what I once had and drunk and enjoyed, but maybe didn't fully appreciate and savor enough. And then Bill Good walks into the wine shop and I'm not even making this up and we had been strolling around Edgemont and trying to figure out what was missing and, oh, I don't know, maybe it was missing the Thomas Hobbes and the Fanny Keifers and the Jim Byrnes that I kept running into in Kerrisdale, but Bill Good will do. And possibly it was me saying, well, did you want to come for dinner and a movie? And I encourage him to go and pick out a movie while I try and assemble dinner (which was freaking awesome, by the way) and while he's over at the Rogers he bumps into an old friend that he had lived with at one point in his life and it turns out that his friend has only been on the North Shore for a few months.
I can't pinpoint it. It's the ability to laugh at my Boston jokes, it's the way I secretly do this ridiculous, mental happy dance when he refers to me as his 'girlfriend', the way he's always cold in my apartment and it's not cold, the way he loves my nana and understands the importance of family. But bigger. The way I always glance down his street when the bus goes past it and I know that's he's up, but hasn't left for work yet. How I feel grateful to have all that I do, but that I would feel a lot better to be able to share it all with him. That I care what color his sister is painting his mother's living room. How he knows when I'm picking my cuticles and checks my hands for evidence of it. Bigger still. It's so big that it's overwhelming. I feel like words don't even adequately express it, and they don't.
And now? Now I have some sort of second reprieve (I'm not even going to question why) and it's like holding a robin's egg in the palm of your hand: it's so precious and so fragile and I'm just really not wanting to be heavy handed.
I don't know, man. Sometimes I feel like winging open my sliding glass door and screaming, "Are you getting this?".
Who gets this? Who gets this much?