The honeymoon stage doesn’t last forever in a relationship. It’s just the short, euphoric period of time in the beginning of a relationship. However, I wouldn’t call it the highlight, and I’m not sure that most people in long-term relationships would either. I think what you lose in butterflies and thrills you gain in depth and understanding.
Have you got a taste of what it is like to be known—and I mean all the skeletons, all the fears, all the places that still hurt?
This week I told someone how I met the Mister. Everyone’s relationship has a spark or fireworks at the beginning, but one thing I love about our story is that I think we got more fireworks than most.
We’ve got everything a good Hollywood romance needs: The romantic backdrop of lovely Oxford, England. The beauty of getting to know each other first and then falling in love. The drama of unrequited love when one of us figured it out first. The painful waiting and jealously of a long-distance relationship. The turmoil and vulnerability of letting someone know you better than anyone else ever did.
Frankly, I think emotional turmoil is what makes a good story, but then again, I’m kind of a drama queen. Either way, the first year or two of our relationship had plenty of it. But it was never the bad kind of turmoil. It was surrounded by this kind of out-of-my-mind euphoria that comes from being head over heels in love.
We’ve been married a while now, and I feel like I’m finally in my right mind again, and life is different—a lot calmer, a lot more mundane. And things have been hard lately, too, but they’ve still been good because of who I married.
That’s basically what this poem is trying to say. Our love doesn’t feel like a wild and crazy adventure anymore. It feels like coming home.We tumbled from the sky. The earth was kind to us, welcoming our feet with springing hills and warming our hands with light that struck our hearts and shot joy to our fingertips. I never thought loving you would be easy. And yet falling was so simple, wrapped up in you, with the wind throwing us down so that I couldn’t even find gravity as we traveled through fog and sunsets and clear blue skies to land here. Feet on the ground, loving you is second nature, even without the wind to buoy us up and send us looping in free form adventures. I find that roots have their own breed of excitement and that loving you through burned dinners and unfamiliar neighborhoods and cant-get-out-of-bed depression hurts and takes me to unfamiliar places and makes unused muscles in my heart sore. But I love the strange ground and I don’t miss the sky and I love that we still take off for adventures in the air before coming home to springing earth and warming light and home.