In a month and a day we'll be choosing the day we'll remember for the rest of our lives.
It's a whirlwind these days. Choices to make, money to spend, so, so much planning, I mean, look at that crown, look at that dress! But there's also the undercurrent. The underground river of truth beyond all this, your hand in mine.
From the day that we met when I was 19 and the idea of forever seemed foreign, to this day where we quibble about how to hang up the clothes and who steals each other's side of the bed. The night we talked about science and brains. The dawn on the park bench. Our jokes, but also our depths, you seeing me at my worst, me doing the same. Finding meaning in being you and me against the world. The way you understand how my devious mind works. The silly nights before going out singing Alphaville from the top of our lungs. Lussy.
With you I experienced the worst losses I ever felt. With your arms around me I heal from it. I hope I can help you heal too. And still the best feeling in the world is getting in bed with my cold feet on your warm legs. The underground river of truth is in the way you support my dreams, in the way you make even the bleak days seem brighter, and in the fact that only you would know that I would love a bouquet of vorticella.
This truth is that we're not only lovers but friends. We were friends for so long before it became something else. And that the only thing that makes sense in this world is that you sat on that table that late night where I sat with my back turned to yours. It was written in the stars. And so now we sign some papers and choose some date and have a party and it's such a stress, but I'm happy because it's you.
Ours is a story worth telling.
