Before the my wedding I was so stressed that I lost enough weight to make my dress baggy. What had been a perfect fit three months earlier hung loose. Our wedding day was the best party. Our friends and family danced forever and we saw so many of our loved ones.
I threw shoes and screamed through the first year, sorting out what exactly it meant to be married, to share dreams and hopes and to love someone so fiercely but to also love yourself in that same way. To realize that all of the sudden I was a grown up and we were in it together for better or worse. For better and worse. Because those things can happen at the very same time.
The second year we hardly saw each other - weeks here and there. He lived in other cities while I buzzed around Fort Collins, flying and driving hours to see him for a weekend here, a week there. I wandered San Francisco by myself, I walked myself exhausted. I hid in the SF MOMA, on their patio, I found respite from the cold in coffee shops and galleries. I climbed up staircases and crossed the Golden Gate Bridge with a person I'd never met before and won't ever meet again.
And now this third year has passed. We've survived much, learned much, discussed much, dreamed much. I won't say it's perfect. This is for real life so things are bound to be terrible once in awhile. But it's perfect for us. And it's beautiful because it works. Not easily, not without work, but it works well, and it's exactly as it ought to be.
I love you, JR. Happy Anniversary.