We just can’t escape love this week.
Which is totally fine with me since I’m convinced the world needs a bit more in it.
A long, long time ago I was a freshman in college. I pretty much vowed to wait until I was a sophomore to date. It may have had something to do with the guy I thought I was marrying dropping me like a hot rock 2 weeks before school. And the relationship before that being somewhat abusive. (I don’t say this lightly, just another story for another day.)
And then I met Matt.
Poor, sweet, long-suffering Matt.
It took only a few months for me to fall in love and know unequivocally that he was the love of my life. That he would heal me, help me trust again.
I finally quit giving him a hard time, and we went on a date. And he cooked me chicken parmesan, took me to this scary field, and served it cold on a table in his truck bed. We ate with our hands.
And one year later, we celebrated our first anniversary.
And instead of writing him a love letter, I cut up little snippets of paper and wrote out 365 reasons I loved him. He could only open one every day the following year, and I’m convinced he’s still not made it all the way through.
So ten years later, I think I’ll add to that love letter tomorrow while he’s at work. I think I’ll use brown card stock instead of neon pink construction paper. I think I’ll spray it with my perfume, and take the time to love him like a girl again, and less like a hurried, over-exhausted mommy.
And when I’m done, I’ll come show it to you.
See you tomorrow, Valentine’s.