Monday, February 14, 2011

anniversary week.

6 years ago today - even the same day of the week - Matt came in to our coffee shop, and very nervously invited me to dinner. Not because it was Valentine's Day - he had no idea. He was so nervous, when I said "yes," he ran out without his keys, saying, "Okay, I have to go start cooking right now then." We had been "courting" for over three months, first just sitting together when we were both there for tea, then short walks around the block, then gradually, a few trips to the art museum, some longer walks, long talks in the parked truck after he had driven me home. He cooked. We ate. Played Scrabble (a game which was still in contention when we were well past our 4th anniversary). He went out to start my car in the snow, and we stood, in the doorway, close but not touching, only to turn away and head home. We repeated the same scene on Friday, with me cooking at his house, another game of Scrabble, and another close but no touching goodnight.

The next day, Saturday the 19th, he invited me to a movie. An early afternoon matinee. Around 10 minutes in to the movie, he quietly reached over the arm-rest and picked up my hand. He laid our held hands in his lap, but his eyes never left the screen, and he said nothing. I missed the first half hour of that movie. I had so completely let go of the outcome of us by that point, after all of the "signals," and all of the "not yets." I let him lead then, as I let him lead all through our life together, and I let him lead now, still.

Your lead my love. 6 years, and I would do every frustrating, surprising, no touching, touching, beautiful moment all over again.

6 comments:

  1. Beautiful moments. Nothing more to say. J.

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  2. This made me cry. Which is weird, since I never met him, of course. Maybe because you seem like someone who would lead, at least some of the time. But it sure brings home the realization that love must be pretty great if every one of us would be willing to do it all again even given all this pain where we're at now. I guess sometimes letting go is the most powerful thing we can do.

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  3. such a sweet memory. thanks for sharing it.

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