The story in my heart


I remember being a girl who knew so much and so little about who I was.

Crushes were here and there and always wore converse. I never cared much but I was a romantic.

I still don’t know why he chose me. How he spotted me. Why he thought he should have my friends start asking questions.

It was special from the first glance. I said and thought I wasn’t interested until that was vastly untrue. Never more untrue.

We were so different. I had never before cast a spell so well. Every way that I looked at him and smiled, licked my lips and slyly responded- meant something.

All of my moves were special. He found the most thoughtful ways to tell me. Moving in close while I sat on that swing. A rose in his car that he let me drive through a scared straight smile. A construction paper heart that he drowned in glitter.

It was young love but true love. And I began to know that I would do anything to keep it.


I won’t tell you it has all been good. Keeping this love. In eleven years my heart has been sad in ways that sometimes still sneak up on me like a bad dream.

I’ve been far, so far from acting in love at times when I’ve acted in fear and angst instead- my stubbornness and princess beliefs.

His sureness of me has waxed and waned but comes back every time and maybe that’s his ‘wild heart’ or the way he bores easily or maybe it’s because I stopped playing the game.

I just don’t see a need to be coy with my feelings when they are a truth- a knowing, without words or reason, sometimes against better judgment.

A sentiment, deep in my bones.

That he is for me and that I am for him and that this is the thing I got lucky enough to have and to hold- I hope forever, but at least for more years and more time and more running my fingers through his hair and seeing the face I could not have dreamed up.


This is the story in my heart.

Happy anniversary to the love of my life.