There wasnt any monumental moment where I knew.
Its funny because I always expected a Hollywood love story where sparks fly and tensions run deep.
But in reality we started with shared cups of coffee and lazy conversations and long drives in the car.
Unsplash / Camila Cordeiro
There were no fireworks, there were no loud professions of love.
It was just there, like an object in a room it, me, and you.
Loving you became a routine: wake up, think of you.
Unsplash / Camila Cordeiro
Go to work, think of you.
Get home, think of you.
Go to bed, think of you.
As reflexive as breathing, but as maddening as an itch at the back of my neck.
I couldnt ignore it, and I certainly couldnt escape it.
And in reality, I wouldnt want to even if I could.
Its weird how you could meld with one person and yet stay an individual being.
How we became a package but remained two distinctive items.
I loved that about us we were us, not me and you.
Until, suddenly, we were me and you.
For me, that meant building one without you.
And so we moved on.
Wake up, think of the news.
Go to work, think of my job.
Get home, think of my family.
Go to bed, think of you.
You were still there, but you werent everywhere.
I forced myself to fill my time with other things until you eventually faded away.
But falling in love with you the second time was different.
This time, I was paying attention.
This time, you made me.
You were no longer a routine, no longer a thing that just happened.
You were a force to be reckoned with, a hurricane after a drought.
You were planets colliding and worlds upending and fireworks, so many fireworks.
You werent an itch on the back of my neck, you werent a Hollywood ending.
Loving each other no longer felt reflexive.
And in the end, it didnt matter to me.
