I met him at the front door. He’d walked home from the bus stop and I knew he was home because I could hear him dragging the trash bin around to the side of the house. I opened the door and his smile met mine and we kissed while he closed the door behind us. One thing led to other things I can’t detail in a blog post, and we’ve blushed at each other like middle-schoolers all evening.
I’ve been asked more times than I could begin to count what keeps our passion alive through the years. I usually stick with the safe to discuss, like valuing the other above self, an ongoing sense of humor, and spending a lot of time together. It’s hard to blog about fiery passion in a marriage, at least in a family-friendly manner, but believe me when I tell you it’s a very important part of what keeps our hearts beating as one.
One way we never lose this fire is by never forgetting what love felt like in those early days. When I look at him, my heart and mind see him all the way back to the gangly boy with the afro at the stop light. I see us together way back then and then years later through changes in size and shape as our bodies morphed with age. Time can’t steal the love that has wrapped us tightly in each other’s hearts for more than three decades. It never will.
I think of him constantly. I don’t mind admitting that I start missing him the moment he leaves before the sun is up, so by the time he gets home I’m pretty close to delirious with delight. No wonder I’m grinning like a fool when he walks through the door. The fun part is that he’s doing the same, all day long. We text each other and call when we can, never losing touch for long as our day unfolds. We are always together in one way or another.
These days of getting to spend a lot of time alone are ones we cherish. We’re in no hurry to rush the next phase, but we know when the last of our young leaves the nest it still won’t be empty. It will never be empty. There will always be us, this pink-cheeked girl and her gangly boy crazy in love and kissing at the front door.