My husband and I have a love story that is somewhat unique to say the least. We met in the sixth grade and were good friends all through middle and high school. He's in the background of just about every set of photos from birthdays and school functions. But we didn't even start dating until after our sophomore year of college.
My mother urged me to date him for years. If you want to get really technical, you could call it an arranged marriage, complete with a two horse dowry. If I'm being completely honest, I started dating him more out of curiosity and friendship than some great burning passion. Frankly, I'd had enough of the latter kind of relationships, thank you very much, and figured I didn't have much to lose by trying something different. Not exactly romantic, but I did love him as my friend.
I say I am only now starting to fall for my husband, truly and repeatedly fall head over heels for him, for a multitude of reasons. The main one is probably that I am actually getting to see him regularly, since he changed careers about six months ago. This allows me to see him in a more consistent light, and I have to say, I like the view. I have gotten to see him fixing things in my classroom, and offering to do the same for my fellow teachers. He has brought me dinner, kept the house tidy as I put in the long house that are required of a new teacher, urged me gently out of bed on the days I needed to get to work early, allowed me to sleep in when I've needed to, run countless errands, helped me to make new friends and just been an all around great human being. Additionally, I think I've been running on extra crazy lately, but he never looks at me like I'm nuts. Furthermore, he's pushed me to be healthier, happier and more patient.
It seems today that people are very determined to feel some sort of passionate, burning love before they get married. I love my husband now and I loved him when we got married, but that heat, for us at least, has always been more of a smoldering ember than a raging inferno. The thing is, raging infernos have a way of burning themselves out at a rapid rate. However, the last embers linger on long after the flame has died. I believe in love that comes the old fashioned way, without the intense heat, but with the warmth of friendship and mutual understanding. I find myself suspicious of relationships that ignite too quickly, and often question how long they will last before buying themselves out. (And yes, I am going to run this fire metaphor into the ground.) I wish everyone a love reminiscent of glowing coals.
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