I can pinpoint the date in which I knew he was the one. We ended up at a small pizza place with barely enough chairs to seat 20 people. We laughed until we cried that night over thin crust pizza, and I remember thinking that I wanted to be this happy forever. I thought “this is worth every tear I’ll ever cry, every sacrifice and compromise I’d have to make. This could be everything.”
I fell for him over $10 pizza, listening to him cracking jokes that made him laugh more than they did me, which in turn made me laugh more.
Sitting there, I felt safe and accepted for who I was, and it was strange. It was a weird feeling, like I didn’t have to hide the pieces of me that weren’t so great, like my loud laugh, the way I talked too fast for his mind to be able to process, the anxiety I got when things felt uncontrollable. He saw the light in all of those things and I had never felt so confident before.
I knew that his love could be everything to me. His love for me, the way he cared for me, and the way he kissed me would cause me butterflies for the rest of my life. He made me feel as if being infinite was something attainable.
I remember being upset one day after fighting with my dad, and he didn’t feed into my temporary rage over my father. He let me know that I would forget what we even fought over and that it would all seem so silly in a few days, and he was right. He made me a better person. He never told me what I wanted to hear. He was always honest and painfully truthful at times, but in the nicest way. He’d say it in his deep voice. I could hear how genuine he was, and I could envision that same voice telling me it loved me for the rest of my life.
He made being imperfect sound like the prettiest sunset, and he was everything I could have asked for. He was hopeful; he made living life bearable, and I made him my world in return.