somewhere between the Grand Canyon + Arches National Park, summer of 2000
I’ve spent the better part of this week unfolding love notes we wrote one another eighteen years ago. I found ticket stubs and happy meal stickers, gumball machine diamonds and cell phone numbers from another lifetime. Some days I look at you and think we’ve only just gotten started. It’s hard to fathom that I’ve loved you more than half my life. I have laughed and teared up and blushed at those letters. The vast majority of them are so silly and so quintessentially teenage, but then I run across a sentence that takes my breath away. A tiny peek at the crazy love we had already found at seventeen.
You know how wonderfully awkward it is the first time you brush your teeth next to someone? Crammed next to each other in front of the sink, toothpaste dripping and crazy grins in the mirror? I had that exact same exact feeling yesterday sitting side by side in bed, reading and eating watermelon from the same fork.
