I married for love the first time.
I got together with Gavin because I needed a ride to a party, but the summer night helped me hear his gentle voice.
I was growing up, learning about the real world, money, and emotions. We loved the same books and music.
He was 20 years older than me, an Irish mama’s boy with a pinch of the ascetic.
We felt lucky to have each other.
We faced death and decided our commitment mattered.
He loved this world but didn’t really accept it. I was the breadwinner, making choices about my time so he could continue his life’s work.
We bought an old house, paralyzed over palettes and too poor to upgrade any of its “charming features.”
We were idealistic and often chose not to fight.
His Chinese horoscope sign was dog, I am the horse.
Where I was brash, he was kind and calm.
I wanted him to soften me.
I carried all the fire, and I brought him a child, a new life he looked forward to with an appreciation of the divine and the temporary.
We faced death again and he lost.
I married for love the second time, too.
I met Mr. Fresh half a lifetime ago, when I was studying with his teacher.
When we got together recently we were both mature, bouncing back after our different losses. We didn’t look crushed or burned any more. Beneath sarcastic smiles, we were tough.
We’re both intense and goofy, lucky and fierce.
We bring equal fuel to the fire.
He’s fire rooster, I’m fire horse.
We’re both practical, but where I stall, he finishes.
We both tilt at windmills, but we’ve demonstrated appropriate use of the “off” button.
When he lacks faith, I bring him shelter, tools, and love.
I worry like a Mom, but he supports and protects us.
I’m considering the range of real choices and talents I was born with.
I love our world well enough to believe that somewhere, it needs me.
He hasn’t stopped changing, either.
Till death do us part.
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