Last night I was laying in Bryon's arms and I was in the mood to talk about the year behind us. This is the exact time last year that our hearts were moved together. The time where we both woke up and committed to giving love a go. As in, forever. It didn't take long; it was a matter of WEEKS from the time I slammed the tomato soup on his desk to the moment we knew we would be married. Really. All in.
And last night I was reminiscing. Over and over again I asked him if he remembered this or that, what we said and so forth. Some things he did of course, but come on now - he is a man. They don't hold on to the same thing we ladies do. They remember different, equally important things. For example, I know that he remembers exactly everything from the day we did our front office project at work. I was trying to date the viking, but I was falling fast for B. Christmastime, I was wearing sweats (seriously don't think I even showered that morning because we were the only people there) and a clip in my hair. He remembers coming into the room I was working in and hearing the air move. Time stopped, he told me. He remembers smelling my perfume (see above shower statement) and feeling drunk on the scent. He couldn't speak. He stared at my eyes and had no idea what I was saying, but didn't want to leave the doorway. He hovered for so long there, hearing his heart beat like wild horses in his chest.
It was a year ago yesterday that I texted back and forth with him before he left for his brother's wedding in Jamaica. We talked about what he was going to pack. He said he would miss my smile. There was some other little flirts, too, that made all the difference back then. They took us from "maybe" to "yes" and from "like" to "love." My gosh I was so in love with him already. I'd kicked the viking to the curb (yes, sorry, but he was an idiot) and my heart was slippery with want. I'd waited so long for B without even realizing it. We went out once and didn't kiss - and then he had to leave the country for a damned week. It was this week, last year. I listened to a hell of a lot of Snow Patrol (Set The Fire To The Third Bar, if you must know) while he was gone. Seriously, I listened to that song last night on the ride home and it gave me chills. Same snow outside. Same sunset. But a year later and about the marry the man. God is good.
I still, STILL cannot believe he is the same guy that I fell in love with. This actually worked out! I got one right! I no longer wait for the shoe to drop, and I am still happier than I have ever been in my life. I know what love is now. Really. There are a lot of religious implications in that, that I didn't understand in my previous relationships. You can't have real love - the way God intended for us to have it - if you don't know Him or know what His love did for us. To know that I know that and that Bryon knows that, and to continue to move forward with the commitment to enter into a covenant marriage together with God intertwined... WOW. So, so good. Love is AH-MAZING.
All of this to say - last night, I tangled myself into Bryon's arms. He was warm and strong. Peaceful. I inhaled his scent. Ugh, I love his scent [mixture of machine oil, Irish Spring, and South Dakota Jedi]. I looked at his green eyes as they sparkled in the dim light and I smiled. Oh how I smiled.
"Tell me something mushy. Something you remember about us," I said.
"Remember that night at your house last summer when we put the kids to bed and then took the wine and the blanket outside? We laid under the stars..."
"Of course," I said, "we laid there in the dark looking at the constellations and you asked me if I was still a little scared by how good things were going for us. You said you'd never been happier in your life. And then we did a lot of kissing and giggling."
"Yep." He smiled. "Every morning when I pull out of the garage at 5am, it's all dark and freezing cold. Calm. The sky is clear and I look up and see all of the stars in the sky." He paused and kissed me. "I always think of that night under that blanket, in your arms."
Le sigh. He wins.