Four Years


I saw it on your dresser. And it hurt me. It stared at me in the face like a mirror and reflected the darker shades of my heart. I tried not to be offended, but I was. You told me it was okay, it wasn’t anything. But it was. To me. The book sprawled itself on your dresser and the title stared back at me, mocking my attempts at avoiding what was being said between the lines. “Is It Love or Obsession?” That was the name of the book your father gave you one night. We were 19 years old and madly in love.

I’m not obsessed, I said meekly into your chest as you held me tight. I felt your heart. Literally. The beating pumping in my ear. I’m in love…with you

At first I was embarrassed at what was silently floating through your parents’ house and thoughts, and wanted to deny it all. But, my dearest husband, I’m writing this today to let you know that it’s okay. They were right. After all these years together, I’m unabashedly obsessed with you. If I could crawl into the palm of your hand and seep through your pores, I would. That way, I’d be just as close to you as I always want to be. Obsessed in every way and any capacity with the person you are. And the person you want to be.

Today, I write this as your wife of four years. And your lover until end’s end. And your best friend until sunset’s sunset. And your soul mate until our very last sunrise.

JD, I am madly in love with you. Today–much like yesterday, and very much like tomorrow–I am proud to be your wife. Happy Anniversary, my love.