Where did we really begin?

It was the first glance. If “OMG” and texting had been the norm, my friends would have been sick of hearing from me that day.

It was the first kiss.  I liked him, oh so much, but was attempting to play it cool.  I wanted the opposite of what I had just come from, to be aloof in the face of love.  But in the end, confusion clouded my thoughts.

It was the first date.  On Valentine’s Day, a movie, fancy truffles, and making out were on the agenda.  Being that I was a senior, and it was a Saturday, I was allowed out until midnight.  Being that he was a junior, and a rebel at heart, he had gotten himself grounded.

It was the first admission of love.  On a regular night of chain smoking and diner coffee, I told him, through serious, “I really mean it,” tears.

It was the first separation.  All in all, a span of twelve months.  In the face of Italy, New York City, London, Spain: my thoughts drifted back to him.

It was the first “this isn’t working.”  In what twisted reality does a high school romance really last?

It was the first exchange of vows.  Among friends and family, we made a promise to something bigger than ourselves.

It was the first child, then the second.  Those tiny, entrancing, beautiful beings that made everything around us simply stop for a moment.

It was the first thought of escape.  The grown-up life of marriage/house/children/career felt more like sacrifice than happiness.

It was the first realization.  We have so much more to learn from each other, more love to cherish, more paths to explore.

Where did we really begin?

We are a work in progress.

And oh, what an fantastic work it is.