Let’s set some things straight. You are going to put out the lights at night even when I’m closer to the switchboard. And in turn, I’d leave the last of Nutella to you even when I’ve had only two spoons to myself. I’d hope our quilts will always be a touch shorter and our silences after we’ve collapsed post the pillow fights, just that much longer.
I know some days will be all about pizzas, Netflix and snuggling in but I am equally sure of those which would find us struggling with the voices in our heads. And if past is a reasonable indicator of future, as they say, I’m certain there will be panic late-night calls, urgent mid office conversations, compulsive desires for hugs, loosening the grip on situations and what not.
This is all going to be scary, but each time I’m crippled by fear, I find myself harking back to how we began.
You are sure of a love that you find between the pages of a book or the one that blooms under an umbrella shared in the rain but what do you say about a love that you find inside the envelopes of a drunken confession. The one that is born with its wings clipped.
It takes the willingness to stick to promises born with toes dipped in graves. We survived on that plank of wood that lovers don’t take chances with. So now each time when you are a bit tomboyish, and I am a little girly, I know we are making a little progress, building a little home.
And until we build one with roofs and walls, I think this will be enough.
To the 11:11 Wish