2.13.2010

A love letter

Dear future,

It's the day before our second Valentine's Day together. I hope there will be so many more. But every day is not Valentine's Day and I'm not obtuse enough to imagine that there will never be fights or frustrations, eventual times when our history of habits allows us to say sentences like "you always do this" or "you never do that."

When those times come, I want to remember these days.

Some mornings, we commute to work separately. But most of the time, we greet the doorman together on the way out and walk the four blocks to the subway, where we get our books out and read, separately. I don't sit unless there's space for both of us. Usually we laugh about how many more pages I've read during the commute. I'm a bit of a speed-reader.

We take a convoluted path through the Chrysler building and when we exit through the rotating doors, it takes about 30 seconds before one of us asks "what's your thing?" I always want to remember that we tell each other what we're most looking forward to that day. Often it's a specific meeting or the opportunity to work quietly for a long stretch. On anticipated rough days, it's takeout for dinner.

Sometimes people ask me if it's weird to work with the person you live with. I guess I don't know us any other way. We're in different offices and rarely sit near each other at weekly staff lunches, but it's nice having someone to head home with. I want to remember the elevator rides after a long day, heading towards a free evening at home.

I want to remember quiet back rubs as we fall asleep and watching our favorite TV shows and playing with Oscar. The weekend days we put on a podcast and clean up around the apartment, eating string cheese for a snack, building Ikea furniture on the hardwood floors. Shopping at the grocery store for weird things we used to like to eat as kids. This apartment before the spring, wishing it would come sooner so we could live on our deck.

One day, we might need to draw strength from these sunny days. Today it's enough to float through life in love. And while it's never perfect, I want to remember how often one of us turned to the other to say "I'm so happy" or "We're so lucky." I want to remember that, at least for a few years in my late 20s, it sort of felt like winning the lottery every day and that, even when we weren't seeing eye to eye, it was so much better than it had ever been before we were We.

So much better.



xo Jen