We celebrate one year this week.
It feels like it’s been forever. It feels like it’s still that first day, when I woke up the morning after we met and you had already texted me, like you said you would.
And I knew then, that you were someone that was true to their word.
This year has been an adventure, and darling, together we have adventured far—to the furthest corner of the world, 46 hours on planes and in airports where we’ve gazed out at cityscapes, foreign skylines in the distance and exotic tongues all around us. We’ve driven thousands of miles, met new friends, and danced on the streets in Mardi Gras, ticking off bucket list items, eager to live life fully, as we promised we’d always do.
We’ve touched the bottom of the ocean together, experienced a natural world wonder, and still, I feel the most amazed when you look at me with the intensity that says, yes, forever, and I’ll never waver.
It makes me feel weak in the knees.
Punched in the gut.
Embraced in your arms, and I am completely, wildly free, in my heart.
Because, you. And I. And all of our joy for each other and none of our expectations of each other was the magic recipe. For us.
Never once have you asked me for something that I could not give—but, never once has there been something that I’d not willingly share. You let me be me. I’ve kept my alone time, my Self, the distinct Me that makes Me separate from You, and that is the greatest gift you could ever give a moon beam like me—to be free. In being free, I keep my feet planted on the ground. I have space to write and practice and read and wonder with the world—I can get swept up in her beauty, spread my hands in the great richness of her tragedy, let my heart sing along with her people. “Please don’t ever stop being the girl I fell in love with”—I promise. And thank you, for asking. Too many times people change for each other—let’s never change our selves, for us.
Darling, we have traveled intimacy. It was scary, at first, and sometimes it is scary still. We are not naturals at it—our lives before each other were those of loners and warriors and we struggled to let anyone in.
But we made a choice—and the choice was us. All in. Fuck yes. Show me your good, your bad, your sad, and your ugly. Tell me about the poor choices you’ve made, the times you’ve been less than decent, tell me of the days that you’ve shone—tell me of your secret heart, and I promise that I’ll keep it here, close to mine.
It’s not always easy. We chose a life together, and sometimes we bump up against each other—I am emotional and prone to moods, and you are sensitive and prone to quiet. We are terrible at cleaning up our kitchen experiments. I am hopeless with numbers, and laundry. You are lovely, but we seem to collect Pellegrino bottles. Everywhere. We wound our two roads together, and we travel their path as one, now—you may stop off here, and I may detour there, but we are always traveling the same way. And our feet are always happy to continue the journey that our hearts chose.
Darling, before we fell in love I asked that I feel amazed by love every day.
But it’s not every day—it’s at least every hour. Minimum.
I think of you and the way your eyes gently crinkle, your laugh—so sudden, and unexpected, and it makes my heart happy every time—your arms, big and broad and always looking for a hug. The way that every moment with you there is no place I’d rather be. Every moment apart there is something fundamental missing—a piece that isn’t quite settled. And when we find each other again, it’s home.
My amazement has only been compounded—because now it is shared. My joy for sunshine, for patience, for the life we create together, every day—we marvel at it, together. There is beauty in solitude, and we have both known that, but oh—there is bliss in companionship.
And sure, we can say that we got lucky.
That not everyone gets to meet the person that not only accepts them, and loves them—but is delighted for them, of them.
But I want this for everyone.
I want everyone to know that they can be loved, as we are loved, for being terribly flawed, and hopelessly whimsical.
Adored, in fact.
That hopes, buried and secret, can be realized.
(Nearly) everything I asked for before we fell in love came true.
I cannot follow recipes, but you are a master chef. We don’t have mismatched dishes—they are all deepest ocean blue. When we are idle, I write, and practice yoga, and you work on your computer. We are quiet, but content. We walk downtown, or travel to a place we’ve never been, because we discovered early on that we love to explore. We have a drink, or an ice cream cone, and talk.
About Greek history and wine and baby names, or where we are going on our next trip, because we talk about everything. Sometimes we sit quietly, because we can be quiet. We walk home, holding hands, because I no longer want to walk alone. Our love is full of the passion and heat born of two people who cannot get enough of life, or each other.
We’re silly. And sad. And joyful.
We explore the world, and each other, and each morning as the day breaks, you smile at me as soon as my eyes open. We make cookies, and memories, and love, and a life that is full—and will continue to grow. Because we encourage each other to thrive.
It took us a long time to find each other—but I’d have waited forever, to know this kind of love. As we look out over our future together, let’s take a moment to look at each other, and look back in wonder—
Before we celebrate one year.
Check out Kristin’s (super popular) earlier pieces in this series:
Author: Kristin Monk
Editor: Renée Picard
Image: Bobi Bobi/Flickr