first year

first year

First.

Last year, this day, I shared a story about us. This year, we've grown 365 days older, together. It hasn't been an easy year. We loved, we fought and we spent 4 months apart. Then we almost broke up. But we met up, made up and jetset Europe together.

Everyone has been telling me how lucky I am, and yes, I'm one incredibly lucky girl. To be able to travel to all the beautiful places with this beautiful man. To be able to spend 2 months in a space that's entirely our own. To have someone who loves me despite having to keep watch while I pee under a tree.

We're jigsaws from the same box falling into place. Yet we're each other's anti-thesis. Even on this day that's meant to be special, we fight and annoy the hell out of each other and ruin an evening. But what I like best about us is how we always, always make up afterwards. And what I like best about you is how you always, always give the best of yourself to me.

We're not the cliche couple, and that bothers us sometimes. Sometimes we struggle to fit into today's romance. Sometimes we fight those lines drawn. Then we realize it doesn't matter, because we've got something else; something bigger; something better.

I love how we ended up at a non-air-conditioned coffeeshop tonight with a bouquet of the most traditional roses, in celebration of our first year together. I love that we can laugh about how we fought the whole damn evening because you were late and I was determined to be angry and how you refused to give in to me and how I reluctantly made that dedication to you at the huge fountain and how your lips found mine and how you scrambled between the restaurants and the florist trying to make me smile and how we finally ditched all expectations and ended up in the most unromantic of places, celebrating one year of the best kind of love.

Je t'aime, toujours. Happy first year, babe.