When we started dating, I didn’t think it would last. I was too young, too immature. You made me believe that we could be something more, something eternal.
After 6 months, we started talking marriage. With butterflies in my stomach, I allowed the fantasy to ignite. You held me entranced by the promise of forever, a future that I once thought impossible.
One Sunday, we took a walk. We went down a street with familiar houses. There was a particular one for sale, we stopped to grab the flier. Within minutes we talked about what could be. A house. A family. You. Me.
I suggested an alternative–you quit the job you hate, go back to school, and we become starving college students just trying to get by. You wistfully smile and allow yourself to think about that for a minute until reality hits. You feel trapped by a job.
You gave me a ring with a question. I answered, without hesitation, “Yes!”
The dream was within reach.
Months later we decided to break up. You felt the need to embrace a higher calling for two years. You wanted to give back to God what he gave to you. You embarked on a mission. Those two years would transform us–our relationship–into a force so powerful that we only wait 27 days from when you return to get married.
For two years we bickered. We broke each other’s hearts multiple times. We learned to have faith and to trust. In God. In ourselves. In us.
A culmination of 4 years together and we finally had our forever. A covenant in a temple is said, our reflection in mirrors is looked at, and tears of joy are shed.
Almost 3 years into marriage and we remember that walk. We are indeed poor students. But we aren’t starving. We are full. With life. With children. With each other.
You are pursuing your career of choice, I am living mine.
A simple memory, a fleeting fantasy, that is still unfolding.