fighting gingivitis together

As I stood in front of my bathroom mirror, one hand on my hip, the other holding my toothbrush in my mouth, I saw his toothbrush standing in the little ducky holder on my counter. No, this is not a symbol of our depravity (he doesn't spend the night considering I live with my parents). It's simply that he works late, and when he comes over straight from work, we've gotten into this little routine of going up and brushing our teeth together in my bathroom.

I don't know why I like his toothbrush there so much, next to mine. But if I were to take a guess, I like it because it's a piece of him that is so solid, tangible and ordinary, living in my world. And for once I'm not saying it means that this relationship is going to continue or die or anything too deep - it simply makes me happy. I like waking up in the morning and seeing that piece of him. I like standing next to him and making faces at ourselves in the mirror while brushing our teeth at night.

He's up for a new job, one that's closer and wouldn't require us to see each other at 1am. And I'm so excited that I will get to see him more frequently and at times that I'm not ready to fall asleep.

But I just don't want to lose that damn toothbrush.

i'd die if i didn't see you there

And when we can see things clearer
than we think we see them now
Maybe kiss each other sweetly
instead of trying to bite down
Maybe then all this will be better
Maybe then we'll recover


I didn't know that fights could be silent. I always pictured them with yelling, door slamming, even household items smashing into walls. I didn't think the first one would be fought over the phone, curled up in my bed or in my car, sobbing, trying to contemplate any sort of future - let alone tomorrow - with the man I say I love.

But knowing us, I should've guessed that it wouldn't have been a normal fight. There was no yelling. There was no anger. It was the easiest fight to lose because all I had to do is keep my mouth shut, and it was over. Us. No more.

But He made me look at him, he made me speak, and because of that, we have tomorrow. And the next day, and the day after. Maybe even longer.

Monday is seven months. And it means more now, than ever.

they call her love

The weather has been changing in Northern Virginia - fall is definitely in the air. I know this because at night, the breeze coaxed through my window by my fan is not just cooling my hot skin, it's chilling what's already cold. I know this because when I wake, I'm deep under covers, tucked into pillows and the light is hazy and not quite enough to pull me from my warmth. I know this because I now scamper into the shower, the hot water now serving a purpose to protect me from the day ahead.

I know fall is here by my mood, by the events, by the time. I always seem to want to think more during the fall, preparing for the long haul of winter when I have nothing but intellect to keep me company. Only this time, it will be different because of the man I have next to me.

I have held his hand in mine for almost seven months. SEVEN MONTHS. It feels like an eternity to me, the girl of short relationships and flings. He has put up with my BS, my craziness, my frustration. I have forgiven his tardiness, his absentmindedness, his unavailability. He has made me talk to him. He has let me cry. He has forced me to move outside my comfort zone. He brought me roses for our sixth month anniversary.

We have finally said the Word (or, The Words). And it was painful and it terrified me, it made me doubt us and myself and relationships but we said it anyway. And it's true, and I meant it, and I hope I never stop meaning it or forgetting how much it meant.

what's good for you

For the first time in the history of my relationships, I am looking at the future.

For the past year, I thought I wasn't a "future" kind of girl. No rings, no white dresses, no bouquets to throw. No homes, no mortgages (at least, not with anyone's name beside mine on the papers). Certainly no children - they are the EPITOME of the future.

And then I met him. And things changed.

It's my little victory - this weekend, I will be celebrating my longest relationship (i.e., two months and SIX WHOLE DAYS). In another month, I will hopefully triumph over the Curse of May with him by my side. And honestly? I wouldn't be surprised if we actually made it all the way.

It's the little jokes about having children, but always with the "if" hanging over it. Using the "L" word, but only kidding. Playing with fingers and rings without saying a word. Describing wedding plans, in the hypothetical sense. And the other plans, so many plans, that might have nothing to do with marriage but everything to do with commitment. These things make me wonder if one day, I will share the white dress, the bouquet and the mortgage with him.

(Even my mother has noticed and made her own predictions about the possibilities of a ring on my finger in an ungodly short amount of time.)

But my favorite thing about us is that for I don't have to worry because we are in no rush to do anything. We're not rushing the ring. We drink in just being with each other, and there's that underlying assumption that there's never going to be a drought.

It's thrilling. It's scary. These are uncharted waters for me, but I've got a fellow sailor next to me who doesn't mind the lack of map. People always say it's the journey, not the destination, that matters - I'm ready for both.

i'm not the same survivor i used to be

Yesterday, I found out that someone I looked up to and respected made a Big Mistake. And it was in the worst way possible - the kind of mistake that rips up the hearts of everyone around them. As I left from hearing the news, I couldn't help but hold onto my quiet grief over the loss of one of the few Good humans almost as tightly as I held on to the boy walking beside me.

And my best friend told me she can't imagine how much harder it is for those that really knew him, knew both of them. And I'm sure that's true. But I also think it speaks to the immense loss that someone who only met him a handful of times can still feel this discouraged and betrayed. He Mattered. And now we'll never be able to look at him the same way, without the questions in our eyes. At least, I won't be able to.

I couldn't let the echo go in my head, even hours later as I lay next to my boyfriend, feeling every bit of our good intentions meeting more than halfway. And I know now that my fears are not meaningless or unfounded. This is what terrifies me about marriage and love and the worst of times - I'm terrified that I can't do it. I'm terrified that tomorrow I could hurt this boy who I am falling so hard for, that despite every word and kiss we mean with all of our hearts, that it still just might not be good enough. People FAIL. Miserably. I am no where near as strong as he was, so God, if he fell what hope do I have?

Good humans, Big Mistakes. And Love. I want to believe in Love! I want to wear blinders to all the numerous failures we make so I don't lose this fragile hope I have. But I also want to rejoice in the moments that we overcome those Big Mistakes. I just hope there are enough to make this pain worth the while.

in love with love

I used to be. In love with love, I mean. I've toned it down a bit (I think) over the past year or two - a few hard knocks helped me out - but there's still a part of me that is absolutely fascinated with love. To me, love is the ultimate sacrifice, the quintessential adventure, the closest we come to perfection on this earth (some people might point to children, but they don't excite me nearly as much as love does).

Anyone that meets me in my current state of denial and anti-dating and whatnot would probably be fairly surprised to to hear my confession that I get off on weddings. I fucking adore them. They're having your cake and eating it, too. They're commitment, romance and beauty all in one day full of the best intentions known to man. Weddings (slash love) are two people looking each other in the eye, swearing before God and man that they're in this for the long haul. They're going to beat the odds, they're going to make it work, they're going to take two incredibly imperfect people and give it their best shot.

The thing I love most about love is simply that it's all about acceptance and forgiveness. It's kind of that final step in growing up, giving up the very human expectations we have of each other, and just taking people the way they are. Love is someone looking you in the eye and saying, "Hey. I love you. I know everything you do wrong, I know everything you've fucked up, and I still love you for it and accept you and not only do I want to spend forever with you, I can't imagine forever without you." Love isn't blind. It just looks past the mistakes.

That's why I say that love is the closest we come to perfection. When we love, we have ourselves taken a step closer to perfect by ignoring our selfish nature, and we also have allowed our counterpart to similarly move closer with us because we no longer hold their faults against them.

That's really what I love about love. Two imperfect people finding perfection in each other.