Sunday light creeped through the window, and I stirred, an arm heavy over my waist. I rolled over to face him, and he hugged me in tight.
Good morning.
In an instant, I was seventeen again, back in my sky blue room, in my tiny daybed with a phone resting against my cheek in the wee hours of the night willing myself to stay awake. The symphony of his soft breath washing away the worries of the day. He was there. I was there. And that’s all that mattered. Our lifeline to a future we could only dream about. Someday.
I wished for this. I prayed for it. I dreamt about it. Hoped for it. I tried desperately to envision it. And as I looked around the room, taking in inventory of the life we’ve built, my heart swelled. Someday is today.
Life happens fast. In a blink, we fall into routine. Monotony. Day in, day out, striving, surviving. And if we aren’t careful, we can miss the fact that we’ve gotten everything we hoped for. Every wish, every little prayer, it’s here. It’s happening. We’re living it. Him and me, we did this. We built this life. I wonder what the seventeen year old versions of ourselves would think if they’d been given a glimpse into today. He worked part of the day. I baked cookies and cleaned. The furkids napped during the afternoon storm, and we did, too.
I picked up pizza and we looked at cars online. We joked about stop lights and laughed in the rain.
We’ve seen some really, really hard times. Moments where we really only had each other. And we’ve had moments where we’ve both hit our knees in gratitude, breathless that we could ever be so blessed.
I don’t want to miss it. Any of it. This life we’ve fought for, the one we built from scratch.
Awesome