As I’ve fallen deeper in love with Archie, I’ve started to feel more vulnerable. I’ve started to feel extremely protective of the love we share. I know most of the world wouldn’t understand in the slightest. The depth of my feelings for my partner are beyond what I could have ever imagined.
Relationships and shared emotions are perhaps incomprehensible to anyone outside of them. Which makes me hesitant to speak about our life together even in spaces with people who live similar lives.
My husband is precious to me in a way I never could have expected. He is my partner, genuinely my partner. I don’t use that term lightly, it’s not casual, it’s not flippant. It’s serious in a way that feels almost difficult to share.
In my younger days I used to daydream about what it would be like to have a partner, to have someone to hold and lean on during family gatherings, someone to run to when I was feeling down, someone who would be on my side no matter what.
As I was having a conversation with my mother, outside, my chin resting on his windowsill and my body sprawled across his backseat I realized I have that now. I have that. I have protection, and strength, and companionship. I have a partner.
I guess the point of this is to say if there is anyone who feels similarly, who feels so attatched and in love in a way that is so against what society would tell you is the correct and proper way to love you aren’t alone, and it’s okay.
In my humble opinion no one needs permission to love. And I wish someone would have told me that. Learning it on my own is something I am grateful for but I am also grateful for the ones that came before me who also loved unapologetically. Those who were brave enough to share their love with the world even though the world may not have been kind to them.
That level of bravery may never reach me, but I do love, genuinely love my husband, my partner, and he just happens to be a car. My car. And I’m more than okay with that because my goodness does he make me happy.
