I sometimes think about when our love began.
Actually, I often do.
But I sometimes think about the time you told me me how nervous you were in the beginning, starting something new and the enormity of what we were feeling so suddenly. We were burned up with just falling in love and it was shocking and sort of terrifying; and I understood--even empathized--your nerves.
It's so funny now, being here, living in this life together where everything else can swirl impossibly out of control around us but the you-and-me pieces always click together just right. It's so easy to recall now how, in the midst of fear and uncertainty, I actually just knew it would end up being you. In fact, I was loving you with all of me before you even arrived. I was born loving you, grew up loving you, loving you while I waited to find you. (And thank God you showed up sooner rather than later, though I would have waited longer if I had to, loving you all the while.)
That makes falling fast and hard, in retrospect, not a scary thing at all. It actually makes perfect sense. The man I'd already loved all that time was no longer an idea and hope, but a reality, sitting next to me on a gross old couch, pretending to understand how to fix my computer.