114 days to go.

It’s a different kind of quiet around here now. Quiet is when it’s you and me and we’re both at home with the dog and not noticing as the minutes tick by because everything is perfect. We’re not waiting and we’re not kids anymore but we’re not old yet either and our lives are happening just as they should. 

It’s a different kind of quiet because there’s no wanting these days. There’s having and there’s holding and there’s till death do us part. There’s kissing the bride and sickness and health and you being my beloved and letting me share your last name.

There’s a mishmash of pronouns these days. It’s you and me still but you and me are tucked carefully into the arms of we and us and ours. And what we built is us and ours. And it’s me and you and yours and mine. And it’s everything.

Little specks of dust, we are. Lucky little specks that tossed and turned and went left instead of right until we crashed into each other and wound up intertwined in something that we’ll say yes to every day until we say I do. 

And then we’ll say yes again, 

again and again, 

every day 

until we’re old and gone.