Eleven Years

4,015 Days, 96,360 Hours, 5,781,600 Minutes, and 346,896,000 Seconds

What is marriage but two people choosing each other every day?

A covenant and a vow. A daily sacrifice, a daily indulgence. Soft touches; hard conversations. Dreaming together and separately. Marriage is a big part of two lives, but never what we live for. Two humans, becoming one yet remaining two. Becoming. Living a life filled with work and rest. Truth reigns even if fiction is present. We were already whole apart; what does that make us together? More complete? I’m not sure. Perhaps better used. In another life, she is the property, and I am the owner. In this life, she has a voice, and I choose to listen. I choose her, and she chooses me. I am hers. She is mine.

We were broken before we were bound, and now bound, we are still broken.

People change, and people remain. What is marriage but remaining together through the change?

It is both the large and smallness of life that can assist in an understanding of love. It’s mainly the in-between. The small truths of sunrises, days filled with Instagram memes and pouring cereal, working jobs and cooking dinner, cleaning up cat poop, and watching Emmy award-winning television that we agree is just “okay television.” Every day always ends with the whispering of the largest truth: “I love you.”

It is proven as another day begins. After all, two people can be physically close and emotionally distant. Not us. We remain close in our hearts and minds, two warm bodies practicing oneness several times a week. Practice. An anticipation that the next time will be better than the previous time, but grateful for any time at all. We take our time. We have always taken our time. Love doesn’t rush.

Marriage changes like the seasons; don’t be afraid. No matter how long it feels, winter always gives way to spring. Every year our anniversary marks this seasonal transition. In our eleven years of marriage, I am still learning how to choose her better. She was always the choice, but I continue to grow in letting her in on the decision.

i don’t love you, but i always will.

i always will.