Skyler and I write love letters to one another on a fairly regular basis. A lot of times, they’re good sized messages with a Bitmoji in my texts. Sometimes they’re on post its. Sometimes, we write to one another when we are sitting next to each other in classes and workshops.
Skyler makes me laugh, every single day of my life. Skyler surprises me, in ways that no one has ever been able to surprise me. There’s a passage somewhere I encountered once about loving an artist, and how difficult it is to do so because you’ll always be secondary to the beauty they’re always seeing in the world, somewhere. That there is always another beautiful thing. For a long time, I wondered if I was impossible to love. I was always seeing something else beautiful in the world. I wanted to move to Arkansas, so I did. I imagined a life in New York, so I left to go live it. I get bored quickly so am always searching for excitement. Relationships always followed the same tired storyline. They became predictable. I knew when arguments were coming, when flowers would arrive, when long talks were inevitable. And when things became predictable, another exciting path became clearer and clearer in my vision, and I somehow, luckily, grew up believing that if I wanted to change, I could. And so for a while, that meant that my relationships could change just as quickly. As someone who grew up on Titanic and Disney, this realization created in me an unbearable melancholy: does someone exist who could, with me, create a storyline exciting enough for me to continue building? Or are my expectations unrealistic? I dated some incredible souls. And there were moments with some of them where I was absolutely convinced that there was something fundamentally wrong with me and the way I viewed romance.
All until Skyler and I finally made us work. We didn’t work the first time. Or the second. Or even the third. But eventually, time and space and choice and love led us to one another here, to a marriage where we write one another love notes regularly.
On Wednesday, Skyler and I went to Culture and Cocktails at the Museum of Art in Balboa Park, adjacent to the spot where he proposed. We dressed up, showed up to a beautiful event, and had dinner at The Prado where Skyler’s parents were married. But we were tired. We didn’t talk as romantically as we usually do, even with the beautiful surroundings. Skyler’s throat hurt. My stomach was acting up. We both had the sniffles. But we held hands, holding one another’s anxieties, and fears, and sicknesses along with our dreams and hopes and love for one another. And I was reminded that when we married one another, we married it all. He gets all parts of me. I get all parts of him. And when we hold one another, we don’t just get the pretty parts. We get it all. And I think that makes the love even prettier, actually.
Fall in love. Every day. With every part of your lover. And let them have every part of you.