On our first date, I didn't know it was a date. I thought we were reconnecting since high school, over a cup of espresso. He shows up on my doorstep with flowers and takes me to dinner. There, he shows me prints of his time in Africa. His voice was steady, slightly low, and melodic. I would look at the pictures, then peer up to admire the skin crinkles around the corners of his eyes, which told me he smiles often.
Our second date, he gave me a hug outside under a clear September night sky. The embrace was so powerful, I went inside and passed out on the couch. Probably before he made it out of the driveway. I did not wake up until the next morning. He waited until this second date to plant a kiss.
Our first year, we went through some growing pains together. He had just returned from Africa, had lost his grandfather, and had lost a relationship. I had also just lost a fiance and my father's marriage was beginning to fall apart. We learned, through each other, trust, patience, tenderness, and that a relationship is meant to be a safe, secure and stabilized by shared principles and inspiration between one another.
My mother told me years ago she knew, since meeting him, that he would be the one I'd marry. He, always becoming, is 30 today. With him, I view aging as a chance to share more memories together. Happy 30th, love.
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