All of us were probably swept away at some time or the other. I remember meeting my husband. We worked together. Just seeing him show up made my heart beat faster. And for our 2 dating years, we stared into eyes and thought we were more romantic than any other couple. We were helplessly in love.
But we weren’t in love at all. Not even a bit. Love would have to grow. And be tested. And stretch and grow some more.
Now we are in love. In a true, steady, weathering kind of love.
We have walked beside each other through vomit, writhing childbirth, injuries, tears, dirty diapers, financial stress, bad breath, grief, losing all that’s familiar, rough, hard-working hands and a hundred other things that get in the way of staring deeply into eyes.
But when we do get the chance between nursing the baby and listening to the dreams of a newly become adult, our eyes mirror a history that is more romantic than any dinner date with wine. A history that bonds and glues hearts together.
And now we watch as our children find “true love”, our lessons not learned, and our notions that love is all sparks, and we forget that they can’t know love yet. They can find someone whom they respect, and enjoy and with whom they are compatible in different ways, but love? True love waits. In the most literal sense.
Hollywood can have its shallow romance that tries to pretend sparks and candlelight are the stuff of love. Those are nice, but they’re only additives.
Give me the man who fills my car up with gas, who washes dishes just because, who braves the cold to work for us, who lets me sleep in when the baby keeps me up at night, who never complains about my faults, who selflessly loves and leads us, who listens and encourages and comforts me just by his presence.
Now that’s romance.
My True Valentine.
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