This guy right here.
Four and a half years of separation. Four and a half years of tears and airports and struggling and fighting; for us, for our relationship. Four and a half years of fighting on the same team, even if some days and nights felt like we were anything but.
And now he’s all mine. More than I could ask for.
Mine forever. Mine every day. Mine every single time I wake up at night, in the middle of the night and roll over restless. I can reach over and feel him there. And that is an indescribable feeling. Mine for every moment I wished such was the case. Mine for every holiday and birthday, for countless seemingly insignificant moments we always seemed to miss out on. For movie nights and Netflix marathons, for taking out the dog at 5am and for holding ice on my ankle after my klutzy self has tripped again. Mine for car games and kisses at red lights, mine for doing dishes and hanging pictures, for dancing in the kitchen and tickling on the living room floor. Mine for singing wrong words loud and proud to radios and for getting lost in unfamiliar places.
My husband and my absolute best friend. Man, I used to hate when people said that; so cliche so corny. But I’ve never felt anything like this and that phrase is the only genuine way I know how to describe it. The one I want to tell everything and nothing to, my day my secrets my stories and my memories. He’s on my team, always. He forgives me, fights for me, and loves me endlessly, to the best his human heart can do.
And for me, that is more than enough.
We’re still learning. And we will continue to learn.
Every single day, for the rest of our lives, we will learn how to be together, how to live together, how to do life together, how to fight together, how to grow together for ourselves and for each other, and how to love each other.
And after four and a half years of lonely nights and empty weekends, that is more than enough for me.
The rest of our lives together is more than enough for me.