The One

The night we met was special to me in ways I never imagined. I recall in our conversations before our first face to face meeting and how, when I mentioned casually that you could always stay the night at my apartment if things got too late on our first date, you immediately responded with some derivative of “it’s only our first date.” I sighed a sense of relief and agreed, absolutely! It was our first date and at that point I was lost in heartbreak from not one but two broken relationships—seemingly simultaneously—and I was not about to invite someone new into my mauled and abused heart.

But you were the one.

We were absolutely drunk on something stronger than alcohol, whether it be beer or wine from the night. We were invigorated and spontaneous and I don’t think I have ever felt more alive.

I still don’t understand quite how it all happened.

Both of your sisters have since told me that they knew right away I was the one for you, and it turns out that you told them the same long before I knew anything about it. I’m sure I felt the same way, but it’s a whole different ballgame when the siblings are involved, if even in some small way. I vividly remember the first time you met one of my brothers and the way you two got along so easily shook me. This had to be it. I was sure of it.

You have had me fooled for so long. I never thought that we would be here, that we would be married, that I would be writing about my feelings with a diamond ring on my finger, but here I am. Honestly, you are everything to me. I tried to write about this when we first got engaged but I was so overwhelmed with feelings and whatever else, I somehow never found the time. I never found the inspiration, even when blissfully happy.

Why is it that I found time to write about the moments that absolutely ripped my heart and soul to shreds, yet I can’t find the words to describe a truly happy, content, and in love version of who I am? The easy answer is that heartbreak gives you things to write about. This is absolutely true, but what then does actual love provide for you? The biggest difference, at least that I have been able to establish, is that being in love hurts less; and there are so many fewer ways out there to relay your happiness than there is to relay you pain.

I could put my vows to text again but that wouldn’t do anything justice. You are my best friend, the one person I cannot live without, and I feel that is the most important part of marriage. Best friends don’t have a specific set of requirements—you support them, you respond to them, you listen to them, and you love them—unconditionally. I love you babe, and thank you for loving me so unconditionally in return.

It’s such an interesting perspective I’m attempting to take, about how it’s possible to feel more when you’re sad than when you’re happy, but I’m flailing around, searching for solid ground in the task. The truth is, I can’t come up with anything better. My creativity thrived when I was sad, alone, heartbroken; it’s shriveled up into something unrecognizable since then.

I am reigniting my love for writing—and my ability to actually do so. Listen to the world around you and I promise you will find something that fuels your fire. I'm still searching for mine but I know it's out there if I keep my eyes open. I just haven't found it yet.