It’s been nearly two and a half years now, and I’m no less in love with Arden.
We’ve changed, obviously, and like any couple we have hiccups. The adolescent thrill of the new has subsided a little, replaced by something calmer, more secure - a solid foundation to build on, rather than hopping from one passionate moment to the next. All of the reasons I first fell in love with Arden are still there, though - the same creative spark, a view on the world that perfectly complements my own, and an infectious sense of humour. Stunningly good-looking, too, but that should be kind of obvious.
I’ll be moving to America, soon. We’re going to occupy the same space most of the time. We’re going to sleep in the same bed. We’ll enjoy the same domestic rituals side by side. There won’t be an absurd time difference of five hours to contend with. As we’ve spent more time around each other, the non-verbal aspects of our relationship have stepped forward, and it’s those parts whose absence you feel the most when they’re gone. When we started out, all we had were words.
We’ll also be getting married. In the last year or so, since I first proposed, the enormity of it all has really started to sink in - that this is someone with whom I want to spend the rest of my life. I am twenty-three, and I already feel like I’ve found that person. It’s bewildering, and unusual, and fantastic, and often impossible to describe.
And - okay, I’ll say up front that this is going to sound strange - I feel like the mark of permanence in a relationship probably comes from how well you ignore the other person. That sounds ridiculous, but makes some sense. Every individual needs their own room to think, and living in the same physical space creates a requirement for a sort of mental space that some relationships - a lot of failing ones in particular - just don’t have. For the most part, Arden and I do this extraordinarily well.
We still have those Richard Curtis moments - I had a bruised collarbone from how hard Arden flew into my arms the first time we met - but it’s how you negotiate the time in between that can make or break things. I feel comfortable writing next to Arden. I’ve never felt comfortable writing around anyone else.
We have a future to map out together next year. Applying for a visa has been a mountain of stressful paperwork, but there will come a point where it ends, or at least pauses for long enough for us to stop and focus on something else. There will be jobs, and our first place, and the first slow steps of navigating a still-unfamiliar country. I feel ridiculously lucky to be doing all this with someone like Arden. I can’t wait to get started.
It’s Arden’s birthday today. My beautiful, hilarious, wonderfully talented fiancé might not even get a chance to talk to me today, but that’s okay. Even from thousands of miles away, across an ocean and national borders, there’s warmth in the silence.