I’ve been thinking lately of loves, present and past, and Gentle Reader, I can’t help but say it’s been a turbulent road. Life has graced me with six loves, two of which were worthwhile, four of which were not. There were crushes and GIANT CRUSHES here and there, of course, but of the six I “loved,” only four were relationships. Of those four, the first and the last were good.
My first “true love” was sweet. Just as sweet as pie. He was kind, and sweet, and handsome, and was good to me. I don’t even remember why we broke up, but we did, at that. But I thank him for being the first first love a goofy girl like me could enjoy.
The next two were problematic, and I won’t go into that here. Needless to say, I grew out of those loves, and learned something about myself in the process.
The last true love is love true, My Darling Husband. We’ve been together since 1999, and will celebrate our twelfth wedding anniversary this November. DH complements me in a way that I never quite imagined. We’re good together. He’s my best friend, my love, my writing partner, my buddy, my co-dog owner.
To be a bit cheesy, Friends, he completes me. And isn’t that all one asks for?
It’s made the problematic ones worthwhile since I’ve learned from them, and moved forward to be a more mature, more gracious, healthier woman.
The Postmodern Bluestocking 