Rather than toot the trivial horn, I dug into the archives and came up with this posted exactly 730 days ago today:
[04.05.2004] — There are days in a person’s life that provide course-changing, defining moments and yesterday will prove to be one of them in mine and Susan’s.
It happened after I delivered and assembled the kitchen island I got her for her birthday. After I asked if it was all right to hose the mud from my mountain bike, and she said yes (and then watched me do so from the window nearest the dining table with a smile on her face). After her wonderful dinner of filet mignon, pilaf and swiss chard with garlic cloves, and a bottle of Parducci wine.
It happened with us sitting on her Chippendale sofa with “Kate and Leopold” on the television and her cat, Binker, lounging nearby. It happened after she showed me the floorplans of her house and indicated that once the tenant in the front room vacates she would like to turn that into an office space — for us.
“Do you think all our desk stuff will fit in there?” she asked.
And that’s when it happened. That’s when I understood that she wants us to make a life together. And I said I wanted that as well.
And I can’t think of anything more right — even more than a full day later, what would usually be the normal amount of time for me and my single-guy insensibility to so-called “freak.” But such a mentality is long gone and instead I’m deeply in love with this wonderful woman.
Honestly, I never expected I would ever feel such a way again. But Susan, with her huge heart and her soulful tenderness and her infectious laugh and her wonderful mind and her quiet strength and her adventurous streak and her romantic nature makes it so easy to do so.
On my way home from my mother’s Friday night, her laughter came out of nowhere to bubble up from within my memory and I found myself stuck in traffic and just laughing along with her, and looking forward to seeing her.
And her warm enveloping embrace is something in which I just get lost. When we were napping in each others arms last Saturday after guitar class and she finally had to leave, I didn’t want her to go and missed her when she did.
I can’t think of the last time that I didn’t want a woman to leave me. And I sincerely don’t think I’ve ever missed a woman once she’s gone.
That’s perhaps what I appreciate most of all about Susan: her need to be gone, to have her own space, and to be equally understanding about me needing mine.
It makes me want to share my life with her and give her my heart all the more.
I love you, Susan.
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