One year and 364 days

We’re celebrating today even though it isn’t until tomorrow.



We’d been living together for 5 years before, though, so it wasn’t like it was all that different. I mean we had a lot more shit after. And the same amount of storage space. But we’d joined bank accounts a few years before; had bought our first big purchase together (a car). We’d both made a commitment to stay together and both weathered through this bad extended family (mine) phase still joined. So, yes, we were a family.

But then. I don’t know. I started to want it. This pure girly side of me that I’d never really encountered before just rose out of fucking nowhere. Those frilly wedding dresses and soft lighting and masses of flowers and candles and everyone smiling and us dancing? I wanted that. I wanted it. And it turned out he did, too. Maybe not the paraphernalia of the event, but the act of joining itself.

So. It was a beautiful day. In the woods. At dusk. We had a klezmer band. Some kids from this commune near Charlottesville called Twin Oaks.



You know it does make a difference. Even if you tell yourself it doesn’t. Because before whenever we got into a really big fight, I always thought. Well. It’s not like we’re married. I can always walk out if this gets to be too much. (I have this thing about feeling trapped.)

Now? It just wouldn’t be that easy. Not just because of the number of ways our lives have become entangled. But because we’re building something here. And even though I don’t know what exactly it is, I know it's important and I that I can’t leave it unattended even for a little while. Plus? When I'm having a good time, it's more fun when he's there too. And when things are shitty? Not as shitty when he's with me. Some days it's as simple as that.