[ WP ] Tell me a love story that is not cheesy or cliche .

I pull my beat-up old Accord in the driveway, throw it in park, yank the e-brake for good measure. But I do n't turn it off. I sit in the warmth, hesitant to walk outside into the snow. Nothing particularly good's on the radio, but I leave it on anyways. 
 
 We're fighting. Well, at least `` fighting'' in the way we do, the way we try to out-morose one another... I do n't want to talk to you. You've texted me every hour on the hour, and with each one you add another stupid crying face emoticon. I started deleting them two hours ago. 
 
 The snow falls harder, and I can tell the hike to the house is just getting worse by the minute. I turn the key, take it out slowly. I always liked the way the key bumps out of the ignition, and sometimes I like to savor that. I check the e-brake again. I do n't want my car rolling down the hill, I might have to call you to come dig me out of the snow again. 
 
 The door feels like it's sealed shut. Or maybe the weight of last night's pseudo-argument is keeping me in. I'm sick of your non-confrontational bullshit, and my car knows it. I push past that though, manage to wrestle the door open, get my feet out. Standing feels like I spent a month in zero-G and am on earth for the first time again. This weight's good, though, makes me feel attached, like I wo n't just drift off into space. 
 
 The walk to the door is the longest, coldest walk of my life. The stairs are a mountain, the snow a glacier, but then there's the door, and my key in my hand, and the lock clicking open, and then the handle creaks and the hinges grind. 
 
 And then he's there, all bouncing and wiggling the stump of his tail, tongue lolling, whining just a bit, running figure eights through my legs -- my wonderful, beautiful, fluffy sheepdog. And the weight of you is gone, and in its place is fur on my jeans and spit on my gloves and paws on my coat. I'm laughing and I'm crying in relief all at the same time. I throw my phone on the counter, keep my gloves and boots on, and grab his leash because I do n't care if it's dumping snow, he and I are going for a walk. 
 
 I'm glad that some day I will die knowing that at least one being -- one furry, messy being -- loved me completely and utterly without condition.
