Do you remember your first love?
The one you thought of every second of every day.
The one, whose very presence made your breath shallow and your heart race.
The one whose every movement was miraculous: sitting, standing, eating, breathing…
I used to love the way my boyfriend walked, all cocky and bow-legged.
I could spot his gate from far away.
Being nearsighted, this became a useful tool as I was blind but vain and refused to wear my glasses.
I remember proclaiming love in big, deliberate ways. I sat by my stereo for hours waiting for our favorite song to play. Then I would call my first love. When he said, “Hello,” I said nothing. I just held the receiver to the stereo speaker so he could hear the entire song.
Once, at the end of his hockey game, my first love took off his glove and from the ice said to me in the stands, “I love you,” in sign language. I had to squint to make out the gestures, but I could see well enough, and in that moment I was bursting with love.
As love matures it becomes quieter: a reassuring hand on your knee as you sit next to him in the car, having your coffee ready for you when you wake-up in the morning, taking care of the kids so you have a few hours more to sleep…
I can spot my husband’s walk, too.
Sometimes he likes to walk with a fake limp.
He drags his leg as he walks up behind me, kissing my neck while I do the dishes.
After getting over the initial worry that he may need committed, I laugh, mostly.
He’s odd but funny and I couldn’t imagine love without humor.
I’m not sure which love is better. I wish the two could coexist.
Sure, there comes a point when watching your love watch TV becomes less miraculous, as it should, but having someone proclaim their love for you never gets old.