Just a Thursday

Warning: Girl in love here. If you can’t handle the love, emergency exits lie in the back button to your upper left and the X to your upper right. You’ve been warned.

Last night was one of those nights that sometimes slips through the cracks of your memory. It was a regular old Thursday, nothing was planned, and we were sitting in our respective corners of the couch, our feet stretched in the middle, competing for space. The TV was on, and we were watching our prime time lineup of sitcoms.

We were happy. We weren’t stressing about the future or analyzing things from the past. We were just existing in that moment, on that couch, laughing with each other, at the jokes from the TV, or while watching our strange cat burrow his way under a towel on the floor. We held hands, we kissed, and we even revived that old hand slap game from when we were kids on the bus. You know, the one where their hands are on yours and you try to get them to pull away with psych out flinches? Yeah, we totally brought that back (and I won).

It was one of those nights where he’d say something random, or laugh at his own joke that wasn’t really all that funny, and I’d hear the voice in the back of my mind say “that’s why you love him, that’s why you married him.” He’s my best friend, first and foremost.

Last night was one of those moments in between. In between the shows, the work schedule, and the bigger events in life that tend to shove the smaller ones out of your memory. But this is where our marriage just is. Just the two of us (well, and our two furboys), just the living room couch, just love.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s