already." I'd been thinking that same thing that same day and told him
so. I'd also been thinking how we hadn't a single "fight" in all that
time. A few irritable days on either end, perhaps, but both of us are
seemingly quick to realize when we're having a bad day and immediately
apologize if we think we might appear irritable. So I can honestly not
recall any time when we actually argued. The closest we ever came was
during our move. Both of us were super-stressed, trying to pack both
our apartments into one. I know I snapped at him at least once, and I
felt horrible about it even at the very moment I was doing it. Maybe we
know ourselves and respect each other too much to allow ourselves to
place blame on each other. I know on my end, I've had some bad days
where things could have escalated for me, but I knew better and kept my
mouth shut until I could reason things out. Each time was just my own
bad mood. Still, it's pretty amazing to me considering the number of
people I know who fight with their loved ones so frequently. There are
so many levels to the "L" word. It's astounding.
Each wondrous moment should be enjoyed. I was a bit off-kilter for a
couple weeks there, and I've come to find that when I'm like this, I
don't appreciate Dale or much of anything as much as I should. I
consciously know how lucky I am, but I don't /feel/ lucky, I feel down
and reclusive. I push on, knowing it'll pass eventually. It's hard,
but I do it, because there was a time when a relationship in my life
would be pushed over the edge with so little as an eyeroll. Dale came
into my life two years ago, and came to know me for the wonderful person
I'd become. I do not want to be the person I was even a few months
before he and I met, because at that point in my life I was still coming
to terms with many things that were seriously holding me back. It was
an important time in my life, but not one I feel I need to repeat.
Those things have been dealt with. There's no going back, now.
Our days are numbered. I savour as many moments as I can. Recently I
said, quite seriously in fact, "Dale, for our tenth anniversary,
methinks we should go to England. We can visit Scotland and Ireland,
too, since they're on the same island. Always wanted to go there." He
gives me this odd look and exclaims, "I want to go there, too! I'd like
that!" See, this is why I feel like I'm living in a dream half the
time. We get along almost "too" well, sharing so many of the same
interests, always wanting to experience more, yet happy with what we've
got in the meantime. It's almost a good thing that my bad moods still
strike on occasion, because otherwise, I'd be convinced that I was in a
coma having the most wondrous lucid dream any person could ever have.
When I told someone at work about this, they're like, "YOU don't plan
ahead, DO you?" No, not really. Ten years is so very close, I know it.
Happiness has a way of speeding up time exponentially. When I was
younger, a day was as a year. Now, a year is as a day. I spend many of
our moments together struggling with every little detail that I know
will fall from my memories. My mother once told me that when I was
small, she didn't have a camera, and she was so worried she'd forget
what I looked like that she deliberately studied me, intent on
memorizing the moment so she'd never forget my little features. And she
never did forget. Yet, I still alternate between wanting to record
everything via photographs and writing, and simply enjoying the
experience, trying to hold it all in my memories. (My memory sucks,
though, so I often go with photos and writing out of fear of letting
anything slip through my fingers into oblivion.)
It scares me how fast time flies now that I'm so very happy. It's as if
my life is passing before my eyes already. I can scarcely keep up.
When I lived in darkness, it was all I could see. Happiness shines its
light on so many things I never knew existed, that I feel overwhelmed at
times.
Must be love.
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