February 20, 2007 — age eighteen
(a part of a look at the past)

my mouth was against your neck, breathing. our hearts were beating in rhythm; talking to each other, you said. i could feel your warm breath in my hair, your beautiful hands on my back, while mine were on your chest. i kept my feet warm beneath yours, and i felt like no matter how close i got, it wasn’t close enough. i kept trying to get closer, and you held me tight, keeping me warm and safe.

you looked down at me at one point and told me i was “so pretty” and it made me blush and hide my face. i love the way you make me feel. we’re so young and in love; it’s wonderful.

and you bought lasagna for us to cook together because you remembered it’s what i’ve been craving. and we’re going to wash clothes together and lay in bed, holding each other close.

when you asked if we were engaged, i couldn’t help but smile. “not until you put a ring on this finger!” i said, holding up my left hand. you crawled back into bed and held my hand and said, “but what if i get a permanent marker, just for now, and as i draw a ring on your finger, say, ‘megan, will you marry me?’” I giggled.

i love that you have your own place now. you said i could decorate your room with whatever i wanted, since you hope i’ll be over often. that made me smile.

oh, it is love.