May 10, 2004

Remember how nervous you were about kissing me the first time? And I was cold so I was standing there with my arms crossed, at the bottom of the driveway, and you told me that when I stand like that it makes me seem unapproachable. And I dropped my arms while thinking, "He wants to kiss me!" And you said to me, "Can I kiss you?" and I said yes, even though you already knew the answer. I had been crushing on you for six months and suddenly you were standing in my driveway, well after midnight, on our first date, and you were asking to kiss me. And you did. And you told me you'd email me when you got home. And you did. And just like that, we went from strangers with crushes to falling in love.

On our third date you said to me, "I love you" and I said, "Oh no..." Not because I didn't want you to, or because I didn't feel it in return, but because I was so afraid that you would take it back. That you said it while caught up in some passionate moment and that in a day or two you'd think to yourself, "Oh shit, did I tell her I loved her?" and you'd want to take it back. I was afraid that you wouldn't mean it. But you did. And we talked about having a black, baby grand piano, in a living room full of windows, and you'd play while I listened. We said that's what we wanted. And it's just what we got.

I remember watching you play and I'd be standing there in the audience, crushing on you like I always had, even though you were more to me than a crush by now - you were mine - an my heart would still skip a beat when I watched you play. And when you'd wink at me from the stage, I'd think to myself, "I must be the luckiest girl in the world to have this man."

Remember our first apartment and how we picked out the floorplan that had room for your music? Did you know that when you were in there playing I would sometimes stand outside the door and listen? But Marley would sense I was there and try to greet me so I'd have to run back into the other room so you wouldn't get shy about me listening. But I used to do that, and I'd feel such awe at your talent, and I was always proud of you.

I was also proud of our townhouse, how we'd keep emailing each other all these house listings and how when we found that listing in Frederick we both knew it was the right one for us. How I'd wait for the bus after work every day as I poured over paint sample after paint sample, trying to find just the right color for us. You seem to think we're so different, yet we always agreed on things like where to live, what color to paint the rooms, what kind of light fixutres we liked, etc. And that time we looked through the West Elm catalog, we agreed on all the same modern furniture.

You make the best turkey burgers on that Foreman grill.

Falling asleep next to you, our bodies entwined just so, like puzzle pieces fitting together.

Remember when we went to the beach with your family, exactly one year before our wedding? And we walked along the boardwalk, hand in hand, and we ate corn dogs and cotton candy? And we went through the Ripley's museum, pointing things out to each other? That was fun. Running on the beach with Marley, throwing that little frisbee around for her. I would have loved to take Ava with us next time. She would love that.

Speaking of Ava, remember picking her out from the rescue? We were looking at all the puppies but you wouldn't put Ava down at all, not until we left. We knew she was the one, that soft, little angel in your arms, with the deep brown eyes and the freckles. She wanted us to be her Mommy and Daddy. When I come over on weekends to get the mail, she jumps on me until I hold her and when I do, she stands there, very still, and we embrace. And we whisper things to each other, about how we miss each other.

Marley, too. She lays at my feet while I sort the mail, content that she is near me, that I am home.

When I fall asleep at night you are the last thing I think of. And when I wake in the morning, you again return to my thoughts.

It's always been you.

that was then - this is now