Friday, July 29, 2016


Sometimes I walk into a room and see Ryan holding a baby or playing with a kid, or maybe I say something funny and he laughs in this same way that’s crinkled up around his eyes since I first met him at 15 years old, and I love him so much my chest hurts.

My heart, I guess, aches as it protests the pressure of all the love stretching it. It spills over somehow and I hug him or tell him I love him or jot down a love note, usually with tears in my eyes.

It aches in the strangest of ways. It’s a happy ache, but it’s also a moment of intense discomfort and I wonder if it’s a subconscious awareness of how desperately I want to keep him forever, of how lost I would be if I lost this other half of me.

For a while in college I very intensely felt that I never wanted to get married. I didn’t want to give my heart to something mortal, something that might decide to leave me or die after I’d gotten so attached I wasn’t sure I could live without it. One night I talked to Ryan until my alarm clock went off telling me to get up and get ready for work. We talked about everything—God, music, dreams, Super Nintendo games—but Ryan says it was when I shared my feelings about marriage that he knew we would end up getting married.

I see now what I could only have begun to imagine back then. I was right. I was so, so right. Marriage is wonderful and beautiful but it has stolen my heart and completely transformed it. Losing Ryan would be like losing all four of my limbs.

I try not to think like that. It makes me cry and nobody wants to always be the guy who has to answer “What’s wrong?!” with “I just had a really sad thought about how it would feel if you died.” That’s a little ridiculous, even for me.

So instead I just keep on trucking and soaking up all this beautiful, keep moving without even thinking about it until I’ve soaked up so much my heart’s about to burst and I’ve got to let it spill over a little again.

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