.ode to my lover.
Who swept my heart away nine years ago in a late night car ride, asking me why girls don’t like farts. Yes, farts. I should have known right then and there this was the man I would marry and share my life with.
And so it began. We made music together, laughed, teased, joked, but never dated. Supposedly he read his Bible for eight hours a day. Psh. I never bought it. And somehow I saw through his crazy haircuts (and colors, I might add), and pants that for some reason or another had safety pins on the bottom. Was that even in?
A dear friend, whom I’m sure was getting sick of us flirting yet still denying our love for each other, exchanged a few words with each of us that we ‘liked’ the other. Remember those days? Does he like me? I don’t know, I think he likes her…
Dating was full of some awkward dates, late night chats on msn, and lots of time at church together. Heck, our first kiss was even at church. *gulp* Moving on… Me attending lots of his tennis matches, and him coming to my piano recitals. Me ditching almost all of my high school football games to go to his. (he was in drumline. he played the quads. *grin*)
But then it was time for college. Wow, what a season of change. Through a couple of much-needed breakups, and two year s of long-distance, we made it. I might add that we once broke up on Valentine’s Day. Yeah, that was a good one. (note: read with sarcasm) But don’t worry, he made up for it a few years later with a lovely dinner consisting of microwavable fish sticks. (again, sarcasm). After what seemed like endless conversations about our differences, how we were raised, our personalities, etc, we finally came to the conclusion that those differences were what assembled our puzzle so beautifully. We fit.
One point five years of liking. Five years of dating. Seven months of engagement. And now almost two years of marriage. what. a.ride.
Ode to my lover. Who makes mistakes but realizes them and apologizes. Who allows me to make mistakes and graciously accepts my apologies.
Ode to my lover, who isn’t perfect but who’s perfect for me.