When people ask how we met, I always hesitate. A pause, a slight ellipsis. It’s not because I’m ashamed or because I don’t think how we met was special. But because it is a story, one hell of a story but that is all it is. We are the result of an equation, and a beautiful one at that. But we are more than just a good story, more than just a fantastic happenstance.
He has seen me at my most terrible, the absolute most vile. He has sat there with me when I wanted to tear off different parts of myself and set them on fire. He has seen me cry ugly horrible tears. The ones that seem too big to come out of the tiny ducts in the inner corner of your eyes. The ones that leave you choking and your cheeks red. We have tried to hurt each other, and we have both succeeded in doing so. We have had loud, shattering fights with our yells bouncing off the walls. We have slammed doors, packed bags, and threatened to leave. To desert, to disappear. There have been cold shoulders, exasperated sighs, misunderstandings, miscommunication.
Then there are quiet apologies with soft touches and kind whispered words. There have been nuzzling and hugging with kisses to the forehead twice the amount of the fights and the tears. We have saved each other from certain things, from certain nightmares, from certain things we cannot battle ourselves. He knows my secrets, the things I don’t tell anyone and he knows the lies I tell to other people, but never him. We have both made sacrifices for each other, and they might have left a tiny rock in the pit of our stomachs. Maybe he’s been angry for some of them he’s made for me, but it’s never lasted.
Sometimes his flaws are so obvious, so blatant that they’re like a quick sucker punch. A dazzling left hook. They hit hard and when it does, it’s all I can see amidst the dizzying whirring of stars that circle behind the eyes. Sometimes it’s all I can take notice of. But most times, his kindness and his love are so innocent and so pure that it’s a wake up call. It’s a rude awakening because it brings me to my knees.
We are hard work, and we are compromise after compromise. And that is the best love story. It’s the kind of love that I had always wanted as a love-sick teenager whilst I watched chick flicks on the television screen.
We are much more than just a story. We were a choice, a leap of faith and we gave our trust blindly to a stranger, which was each other. And I guess that’s what I’ve discovered through all of this hoop-la.
Love chooses you.