When I see you after a long day of not seeing you, I still feel the giddiness I felt the very first time you held my hands. A warm August night in Gibraltar, in a corner near the roundabout.
They say time takes away the magic of the early days, when the world was you and me, and nothing could come between us. When love was as simple as picking each other up from work, sharing a shopping cart or driving by the seashore to feel the wind kissing our faces – like how Kdramas sell their romance.
These days it means remembering to tidy up after ourselves, sharing the school run and bedtime duties and making time to snuggle in the sofa after a long day at work to watch a documentary together even though I’ve been itching to get back to the latest episode of my current drama addiction. It requires more effort but carries more meaning.
After watching far too many dramas in the last year I have come to a conclusion of what love is: becoming the best version of yourself for another, and how by that I always fall short.
You have asked me once if I was a builder or a planter while reading the prologue of a Paulo Coelho novel on our way back from a weekend with friends in Morocco. I do not remember how that conversation went but the flowers in our garden that bloom every year are testaments of the seeds of love that you plant and continuously nourish.
Eight years since that rainy day we promised to love forever, you still are the man I would have dreamt for an ever after.
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