I’ve never written about him because I never could. Not properly. 100, 200, 300; 1000 words would never be enough. He is my soulmate. The ying to my yang. He is every stereotype and more. He is my best friend and I am his. He does things every day to confirm each and
every one of these things. I smile and feel affectionate when I see how enthusiastic he feels about games he loves; how he will sit down and say “ya, gonna play this for a few minutes and see how it goes” and 3 hours later is in the same spot. I love how the same man could go days without a moment to himself and utter not a word of complaint. How in the duration of our relationship he has worked 3 very testing jobs to support himself through college. To spoil me and to make something of himself.
I love to think of the evolution of our relationship. Those nights that we would talk till it was nighttime no more. Uttering the words; “I’ve never told anyone that before”. Not a moment of silence; not a moment of awkwardness. A harmony felt with no one else.
The trial run of living together; a summer in Bulgaria; the best of my life. The most relaxing time in the world; a time to be myself completely. No pressure from anyone else; only love from the man who loves me exactly as I am. With all the eccentricities; the occasional airheadedness; the rants; the emotional times; the mad worries and the tears. The enthusiasm; zest and positive outlook. The blunt honesty. The eagle eye; the impatience; the intolerance.
Then one September those seemingly far away thoughts we dreamt up all the way back in Bulgaria suddenly became a reality. Our own place. All ours, no one else’s. A cosy little one bed apartment for us to customise as our own. To choose when we wanted to share with our nearest and dearest; to choose our romantic nights in. To put up book shelves full of treasured books and dvd’s; to fill with cook books and cooking utensils; to adopt a tiny hamster; to put up christmas decorations; to be well, to be sick; to be good; to be bad.
Days spent walking home from college discussing our days; laughing away and empathizing completely. Wearing his ring, his watch and his key necklace each with their own story to tell. Missing each other when we were apart for just a day. Baking him cookies for when he gets home; getting home to a sparkling clean apartment filled with Yankee candles and a boiled kettle with a man waiting to make my perfect tea.
The perfect tea, from my teenage dream.
Yankee Candles – something I never had the slightest interest in till a lovely woman showed me their importance.