August 30, 2011

My dearest,

Another day, another traffic jam. Bumper-to-bumper. You are groaning in the seat next to me. Used to be we didn’t have to drive as much, when we lived closer to work. When we renting an apartment a mere ten minutes walk away from our offices. That was, what, three years ago? More, really. Time passes so bloody fast. So innocent then. Things aren’t always easy; it gets difficult and discouraging, it does. But we, we have learned to get tougher. We have learned each other.

It hits me. I turn to look at you. You sense this, and the shrug of your shoulders tell me you expect me to say something silly and mushy, yet again. (You are right, of course. You know me well.)

“You know what? I love you now more than before. More than when we first met, more than when we celebrated our first anniversary, more than last year. More than yesterday.”

I look at you and wait for the usual sarcastic comeback you are so good at. It’s part of our daily banter, part of your charm; it’s how I know you still pay attention to what I say, even when it’s nonsense and inane.

Instead you look right back at me and say, “I do, too.”

Your fingers tighten around mine. Our hands wrapped in each other. I squeeze back, and I drive us home.

Yours, ever and always.