In which sappiness is unavoidable

I have a boyfriend. There, I said it. Okay, fine, I’ll elaborate. I met a man through work. He was actually one of two people who interviewed me for the position I have now. I was immediately smitten with him, and the first three months of my job were spent quietly pining for him. Not constantly, but whatever the normal amount of time and energy spent yearning for someone you have no business craving is these days. Yeah. I must’ve been dropping some signals, though, which he apparently picked up on. One day he suggested we see a movie together, which we did, and we’ve been together ever since. And that’s it.

No, it isn’t. I love this guy beyond all possible comprehension. He is everything I could ever want in a partner, and more. I’m not sure if I subscribe to the belief that we have just one soul mate in life, but if that is indeed the case, I’m pretty confident that I’ve found mine. Yes, it’s that bad. Trust me, I feel silly admitting this out loud. This isn’t the first time I’ve wanted to write about him, but I never wanted to come across as a starry-eyed, lovesick moron. That’s not my style.

He drove me home this past Sunday night, as he does every week. It was raining. Before I got out of his car, he assured me that he would send me a text message when he got home, to let me know he’d gotten there safely. It’s about a 20 minute drive from my place to his. After half an hour I hadn’t heard anything, so I sent a text asking if he was okay. I didn’t receive a response. After another 10 minutes I tried again. Nothing. It was 12:30 a.m. by then, still raining, and my guts started twisting into knots inside me. He is a man of his word, if he says he’s going to text me, he is going to do it no matter what. Another 10 minutes passed, and still nothing from him. I pictured his car flipped over, in the rain, with him dying inside, probably looking at his phone and unable to reach it. The thought of him in unimaginable pain and agony was traumatic enough, but what really made me lose my shit was the thought of him just not existing anymore. The void he would leave behind in this world and all the joy and light that would be sucked into it, pulled to wherever his energy and essence went. To say that I was a mess would be a ridiculous understatement. I finally tried calling him at 1:00, and he answered. He’d sent me a message as soon as he’d gotten home, as promised. I never got it, and he hadn’t gotten my frantic messages. I felt bad for waking him, he felt bad for freaking me out, even though it wasn’t his fault. Our messages finally came through at 1:52 that night. I would’ve shaken my fist at our wireless providers, but I was too overcome with relief that he was alive.

I told this story to a friend today, and when I finished she looked at me over the frames of her glasses and said, “Dramatic much?” Okay, maybe it was a bit much, but accidents can happen in the blink of an eye, with no rhyme or reason to them. It’s not like he doesn’t know how I feel about him. A huge portion of our conversations are spent telling each other how much we love each other and how wonderful we each think the other is. So… why should I feel embarrassed about that? I don’t. I’m super crazy about him and I want everyone to know it. Besides, we’re just so damn cute. :D

So... yeah. I'm in love! Yay. :)