when perfect comes, imperfect disappears
there are so many things that i can't believe: that it's already been a year since the water rose over the levy, that, had she lived, jon benet would be sixteen. that i'm old enough to be living with my boyfriend, to be considered a teacher, to have an annual salary. how can it be that i've experienced a lifetime this summer and still instinctively plug in '21' for my age on cardio machines?
i saw world trade center last night and i wasn't sure if i was crying because of the movie or because it made me increasingly aware of my own mortality, of the possibility that the things you take for granted might not always be. everyone says the world is crazy, teetering on the brink of collapse - of ruin by nuclear warheads, terrorists attacks, or glacial flooding - but i can still think of no greater tradegy than having someone i love taken from me.
i can't think of a more beautiful secret than this.
when people ask me how it is, living with him, all i can come up with is it's like "playing house." i do the dishes with a whimsy, feel validated by a precisely made bed. we bicker with a playful banter and try to allign our bedtimes. i've never felt closer to another than i do when he wraps his arms around me as i finish washing my face. after two years of obstacles, there's nothing sweeter than knowing he's bound to be a part of each and every day.
for the first time in four years, i have the comfort of my friends from way back when with the freshness of new faces that i've already gotten used to. for the first time in four years, i'm not the least bit lonely. i miss the people i've had trouble getting a hold of, but there's almost too many people i'd like to spend my saturday night with, almost too many items on my "social" to-do list. i've been overwhelmed by the connections i spent all of college desperately seeking, the instantaneous, circumstance enhanced kind of friendships that i actually want to last long beyond the two years i'll be spending here.