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  • It was the middle of a week, a Wednesday, sandwiched between business travel and really not supposed to be a big deal - no, not at all.

    But there we sat on this particular Wednesday and realized we'd been wrong. Really, really wrong.

    It was a big deal - our 20th anniversary. A big "Hell Yeah!" worthy milestone, a prime example of the irreplicable and fleeting thing called now. The ordinary present, sure, but yet not so ordinary at all - maybe a minor miracle even - to be sitting across a table still entranced, two sets of blue eyes sinking, floating, flying as we started to recount the long road we'd walked (also ran, skipped, sometimes limped) together to get here.

    So many hopskotch moves - jobs, homes, states of mind. The tidal friendships, the time lapse feeling of watching cherubic babies morphing into men, our narrow misses, our innumerable flaws and the bottomless, sustaining well which is the nature of forgiveness, the liquid that keeps us afloat.

    - I am so sorry (again,) it's just that...

    - I know.

    - You do, don't you?

    - Yes, and it doesn't matter. You are who you are, you can't help it. There would be a gaping hole in my life without your whirling, tangled, passionate energy...

    A lot has happened, will happen still. The who-knows-what-where-when of our forked twisting, turning paths. Him, me, us, it - who we were, who we are now, what we've been (and not) to eachother, what happens next. At times it seems all so blissfully simple and at others so impossibly complex.

    I watched him slide the card across the table to me for the 20th time - my name with the hopeful little heart beside it. It requires such blind faith and quiet courage to be as loyal, as resourceful, as consistently forgiving and kind as is my husband. That tiny and clear blue print I know so well, and the invisible cupid's arrow that flies forth, bursts my heart wide open yet again, everytime.
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