Happy Anniversary, To The Both Of Us · 6:55pm Jan 21st, 2023
The first time she saw me, she gave me a rose.
It was pink, she said, because pink is my favorite color. She was wearing a yellow sundress, and even though it was raining outside, it made it feel like true summer.
I took the rose, and she hugged me, and her touch was light and breezy. She knew I was tired from thirteen hours of flying, so she hugged me tight, but not as tight as she wanted to, just in case it would hurt.
That’s when I knew, right there at the airport. Holding a rose that she’d gotten for me, feeling her arms around my neck. This is what tenderness feels like. This is what love is.
What followed was, of course, the best summer of my life.
I have a complicated family history. The details are irrelevant, I feel, but you can probably guess. My childhood wasn’t the best. And I try to keep myself to high standards, but is it ever enough? Doesn’t feel like it.
I do consider myself charming, and funny, and pleasant. I do consider myself polite. I try my best to be harmless.
But rotten trees bear rotten fruit, try as you might. I’m not sure I consider myself a good person.
We traveled through West Virginia, and Ohio. She showed me forests and rivers and caverns. We hiked during the day, watched movies and took walks during the night.
But one day we overdid it. It was a hot day, and we found a high mountain, and we wanted to get to the top. So we did—but the sun was too bright and we didn’t have enough water.
It was a heatstroke, and not a light one. She felt nauseous, dizzy, weak. We cooked dinner—and it didn’t get better. We called her mother, then a nearby emergency room. “Scary” doesn’t cut it.
“Do you want to come to the hospital with me?” she asked, and I put my shirt on backwards, because that’s how quickly I got dressed. She didn’t need to ask, but she did anyway. Even at the worst of times, she was tender.
I can’t drive. My phone didn’t work in West Virginia. I was completely useless, and could do nothing for her other than offer her company and try to calm her down. I rushed into the gas station to buy some gatorade, running on flipflops, so fast my toes hurt for days afterwards.
We didn’t make it to the emergency room.
But only because we didn’t need to. The car’s air conditioner, blasting her straight in the face with cold air, brought her back to life. Driving at night calmed her down, made her focus, subdued our rising panic attacks.
We drove back to the AirBnB, and she was already feeling much better. Instead of going upstairs, back to bed, she laid down on the sofa, next to the AC, so she could breathe right. “You can go back to bed”, she said.
I didn’t.
She fell asleep. I put a wet towel on her forehead, and covered her up with a blanket, and kept water and gatorade by her bedside. Instead of going to bed, I laid down some pillows right there on the ground, next to her, and waited.
Every hour or two I got up, and checked her temperature, and put a fresh towel on her head. She never woke up—though at one point, still asleep, she grabbed the towel and threw it away. That made me laugh. Her color came back to her cheeks. I breathed easy.
I still didn’t go back to bed. I still didn’t sleep.
I dozed off, surely; I didn’t stand proper guard all night. But I laid there next to her and put alarms on my phone—it was on silent mode so it would just vibrate softly; I didn’t want to wake her up—just to make sure I’d be alert often enough. I didn’t know what I would do if she got worse, but at the very least, I refused to let her be alone if that were to happen.
The next morning she had a hearty breakfast, and we went on. Summer continued, and it was wonderful, and I had barely slept—but I didn’t mind. She was healthy again. That’s all that mattered.
I could have said many things in this blog, and I started writing other versions of it, funnier ones. I could have talked about how she kissed me to try to distract me so I’d lose at minigolf, or how she caught a snake while playing frisbee. I could have talked about the time my worst joke made her bend over with laughter, or how I played soccer against her dog, and lost.
But I didn’t, because even though those all happened, they felt fake to me. They felt like I was trying to be entertaining, like I was making a product, and for once, I am not. I’m being sincere. This is a blog in the truest sense of the word; an entry for my digital diary. I do not care if people enjoy it. I only care that it is all true.
A year ago today, I started dating Mousse. The timing is a bit ambiguous—we flirted, courted each other, played coy and less coy, before making it official. But the day it all started was January 21st, and so that’s the day of our anniversary, the way we see it.
I’m not a sentimental man. But nowadays, I look at those people who want their other half to fix them, and I can’t help but feel offended. I don’t want Mousse to fix me, I want to fix myself for her. I want to keep improving and moving ahead, I want to keep working and evolving, just so I can stay by her side.
Because the truth of the matter is, I could tell you that I love her, and I do, and I could tell you that she’s special, and she is. And I understand that that is how it’s supposed to go: I am to write of all the things that make her lovely, of all the things that make her special.
But I can’t, because words are not enough. Some things can’t be explained, they can only be felt, and Mousse escapes definition.
I have tried many times, and every time it feels lacking—she’s too bright, too great, too full of little details. I cannot describe her in a way that makes her justice. I cannot bring you warmth by writing the word “fire.”
I can only talk about myself, and hope that through that, using me as a reflection, you understand what I mean. That you will know what I talk about when I say her voice tastes sweet. That you will feel what I mean when I say next to her I wake up smiling.
It’s our anniversary today. We’ve been together for a year. It has been the best year of my life.
She makes me happy.
I am not a sentimental man, and I often do not consider myself a good person. But whenever I’m at my wit’s end, I think of that night in which she had a heatstroke. Whenever the stress gets too overwhelming, and I feel close to breaking, I think of myself, standing guard by her side all night. I think of swapping the towel multiple times during the night.
I think of how I never felt tired, because I was too busy thinking of her. And then I think: perhaps not everything is bad. Perhaps I am not fully broken.
Perhaps I, too, can be tender.
Here's to many more years.
I hope the two of you have many happy years together.
You and I are similar in a lot of ways. I have trouble with sincerity too, sort of an instinctual aversion to it for reasons I could probably unpack and which probably wouldn't be worth the time or effort if I did. I was tempted while reading this--as you were while writing it, I see--to riff inside a compliment: express my earnest appreciation for what good you see in yourself and what good you put out into the world, but also couch it in a silly comment or reference so, y'know, no one would think I actually felt something. Because that would be... bad? Vulnerable? Not worth the time and effort either way.
This was beautiful, and you guys have been and are and will remain precious, and I'm so happy you've both found the happiness you deserve in and around each other.
That's it.
This is the most beautiful and touching expression of love for another person I’ve ever read.
Congratulations to you both. May you enjoy many more years together!
Funnily enough, some sporting leagues actually do have rules against non-human players. Or at least age limits that would preclude a still healthy golden retriever.
"Rotten trees bear rotten fruit," if you're referring to Matthew 7:17–18, is specifically about the works produced by an individual: good deeds are done by good people, whereas bad deeds are done by bad people, more or less. This passage has exactly nothing to do with the nature of a parent in regards to their progeny. Good people can come from bad parents, just as wholesome food can grow from an otherwise toxic plant, e.g. various nightshades like potatoes, tomatoes, peppers, and eggplant; incidentally, the toxins in nightshades function as a natural pesticide, so naturally, a fruit that is meant to be eaten in order to spread its seeds must be an attractive food source when ripe.
In short, we know you by your works, and they tell us that you are a good person. Never forget that.
I'm glad you two are happy. Here's to many more happy years for you both.
Very glad for you both!
5710001
I had no idea that was in the Bible whatsoever! What a wacky coincidence. Maybe I heard it somewhere and recalled it without meaning to.
I am only very recently aware of your two’s relationships, but it sounds really special, and that’s a very sweet meeting story. Here’s to many more for both of you!
And to echo what others have said, you are unquestionably a good person. Mostly saying stuff with wit and a side smirk doesn’t mean it’s not sincere. And that was clear even when I only knew you loosely. So don’t worry on that front!
Aw, you don't look like such a chump...
All happiness to you both
i.kym-cdn.com/entries/icons/facebook/000/000/283/gaijin4koma2_peersblog_1200684608.jpg
you LOVE to see it
I'm so happy for you two. Here's to many more. n_n
No career, no amount of money, no degree of fame is worth love like that. May it last forever.
This is good stuff to hear.
Congrats. Here's to many more years.
Happy anniversary you two! It's coming on a year since the first anniversary between my partner and I soon. It's scary and wonderful. Here's to many more good years for you two!
If that's not love, I don't know what is. Desiring the best for another, not just in a material way, going the extra mile or ten without caring of a cost to you except in that it might get in the way of your ability to help them.
For their happiness, their health, their future, loving them because your love for them gives you the opportunity to be that better person.
It is more beautiful to know.
I didn't know you two were dating, but happy for the both of you! Here's to hoping you both have the strength to overcome all your trials and the softness to be there for one another.
Happy anniversary, you two. I wish you the best in life.
This was deeply sweet. And so tender. As someone who is very sentimental and dreams of true love, this blog made me cry.
Un amor tan cierto, que os vuelve a cada uno bálsamo para el otro, debe atesorarse como el diamante en bruto que es. Os deseo a los dos la más larga y plena de las existencias.
That was really nice! I do admit that for a while I wasn't sure if this was autobiographical or another non-MLP fanfic, so when I reached the name Mousse I thought "this is a Ranma 1/2 story?! wait, no Mousse is a guy in that". It wasn't until the comments that I knew for sure this was autobiographical.
God, I hope someday someone writes that way about me. Cheers to the two of you. Here's to many years more!
Cheers to one and many more, my well dressed friend.
That was beautifully written and a delight to read. Here’s to 10 more years, then 20 more, and then another 100 beyond that (hey, who knows where science will take us, right?). She sounds like a truly delightful person. (And for someone who’s so often down on himself, you don’t seem half-bad yourself. After all, Mousse seems to think you’re just fine.
)
That was beautiful. My most heartfelt congratulations to you both.
Congrats to the both of you c:
Modern day poetry
Being nice is how we are taught to be by society, be nice, be polite. Sometimes it's an act we put on because that is what is expected.
Being good is more difficult, it's a part of who we are, not something we can just be when we feel like it. It's how we treat others in their time of weakness, or simply how we treat other when there is nothing to gain.
Everyone is free to make up their own mind on whether or not they are nice or good, but in the end it is how others see us that determines it.
I do not know you in person at all, and have no idea who you really are. But, even if maybe it's just an effect of your adept writing or your ability to eloquently compose your words in a pleasing manner (which just might be the same thing), i sincerely wish that there were more people like you.
In particular, you managed to capture the feeling of being in love, and that alone is worth more than anything. I wish for you that it will never wane. Such things really do go beyond definition.
And of course, thank you for reminding