I have this thing with dates and numbers. My brain files things away in ways that are weird and (I think) special.
On May 28, 2010 I went on my first date with a cute guy I’d been crushing on all year. I thought he was mysterious and kind and worthy of being my first-ever first date. Neither of us had our driver’s license yet, so our parents drove us around. It was the beginning of everything. We were (almost) 16.
On May 28, 2016, I married him. After six years of falling deeply in love, it was the perfect day. We laughed, we cried, we loved even more than before.
Somewhere in between those dates, I laughed and started breaking down the fractions of our life. “When we are 24,” I said, “we will have already spent 1/3 of our life together. When we are 32, it will be 1/2!”
And I think I laughed at that, because who even marries their first love? But now that we’ve reached that 1/3 mark (how?!), I am daily reminded of the joys of falling in love just once.
Growing into adulthood with Joey makes me happy, thrilled, brave, hopeful. I can’t wait to have him home for our anniversary, because life with him by my side is so much better than being alone.
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