16 January 2010

the party, part xxvii

It’s the eve of their official one month.

And our girl is trying to hype herself up on caffeine and get the creative juices flowing. She’s never gotten to this point before, never thought she could, and yet here she is. And, of course, this is the moment she needs her words to flow and they suddenly decide to stop.

It’s like the words got clogged up somewhere between her heart, her mind, and her fingertips. The words that once poured out, ink spilling like blood, are now stuck. The adjectives and verbs and nouns all caught up somewhere else, taking a little vacation at the most inconvenient of times. Deserting her and making writing the simplest of sentences more difficult than it all needs to be.

But she could care less.

Because she is so unimaginably happy. He’s like every love song she ever heard wrapped into one amazing person. Every cliché. Every bit from a book that made her say, “I wish this would happen to me.” His smile makes her want to be so much more than she is, makes her believe she really can be better.

He calls her his fishie, his angel, but the only thing she cares that he calls her is his. His girl. The first time she heard him say it, she caught her breath, not daring to believe he had really said it. But he had.

Prepare for the invasion of warm fuzzies.

She could never have prepared for any of this, and every day she wakes up and thinks it’s all been some great dream. Something her imagination ran wild with, imagining all these great situations, and now she’s woken up and it’s still 2009 and she’s alone.

The best part is seeing him. Because, once he smiles, then she knows it wasn’t a dream, it’s all real, and somehow she got someone this great. Someone who argues, “No, I’m the lucky one to get a girl this beautiful.” Someone who won’t let her get all depressed, because he’ll jump in and wink at her before she can even think about getting sad.

Someone she just can’t believe she has in her life.

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