((Sorry if this got posted twice! D:))
This is Jeremy and I. This picture is old; it’s among our first couple of months together. My neck is bare without our interlocking necklaces. My hand is without its ring, his promise to our future. The only thing we have are some cheap bracelets I got from playing in the arcade at a bowling alley.
This is the only candid of us where we’re not doing something together, not even holding hands, and I can still sense the love between us. The way we are standing close together, the way he has that tired, but happy look on his face. I can see it in my mind’s eye, in the memories of us from that evening. That was the day he showed me how to whistle through the grass,. It was the day the ducks waddled within a foot of us and we stayed perfectly still to see how close they would get.
That day we were at his aunt’s house. Instead of sleeping on two separate couches we forced ourselves onto one and struggled to keep our limbs from falling asleep in awkward positions. It was one of the most uncomfortable nights of my life, and one of the best. And this is how we always are: we’re that ridiculous couple that oozies mushy love wherever we go. We’re the ones that everyone thinks doesn’t fight, that everyone thinks is perfect. We’re the ones that sleep painfully on one couch because we’re so absurdly into each other that we can’t stand being a foot away and sleeping on two. I love this boy with all my heart. Fifteen months later I have no doubt that one day, we will marry. One day, we will have our own little cottage in Ireland, right on the cliff. And we’ll continue to argue over who is more Irish, even though it doesn’t matter anymore. Because one day, we’ll know that the little child between us is more Irish than either of us will ever be, and that will be enough for us both.
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