When we first met at that bar on Main Street, days after I drunkenly slipped you my number on my credit card receipt, I had no idea who you were. Did you come from a big family? Had you ever broken any bones? Did you like Chinese food? Were you scared of heights? The first few days we’d spent together, I’d go home daydreaming about all the things you were and all the things you could be.
I’d dream about our small wedding with just our close friends and family, serving fried chicken in our backyard, a local band playing our favorite songs.
Or maybe we’d have a large wedding and rent out a ballroom, your rich great aunt paying for our four course dinners and string quartet.
I’d dream about our four kids, three boys and one girl, and how you would coach their soccer teams.
Or maybe we’d have no kids at all, and we’d spend our days traveling all over the world.
And then I got to know you.
I learned about your two sisters and your family’s beach house on the Jersey shore. I learned about how you were a late bloomer and worried during high school if you would ever grow above 5’6. I learned about your love for Philadelphia sports teams and about your dirty philly accent that really comes out after you’ve had a few shots of whiskey. I learned about the moles on your back, and the grey hairs on your head, and the belly laugh you only share when something is really funny.
You were all these wonderful things that I never could have dreamed up, and I couldn’t believe how far I could fall in love with you.
And then I stopped falling.
There seemed to be no surprises anymore. I seemed to know every move you were going to make next. I knew whether you would eat the leftover ice cream in the fridge. I knew you’d ask the waiter at the restaurant if they had any IPAs on draft. I knew you’d have the basketball game on in the living room when I got home, and I knew you’d get up and kiss me when I walked in the door.
And something happens when you suddenly don’t have to wonder anymore. Something happens when you know everything there is to know about a person.
Life becomes easy.
You stop falling for this person because it’s not just about this person anymore, it’s about everything you’re going to be together.
You start to focus on your own dreams. On the dreams that may have gone to the wayside when you were too busy falling in love, wondering what was going to happen next.
You start to lose those butterflies in your stomach and in their place is that gut feeling when you know something is just as it should be.
You start to dream about the life you have, rather than the life you imagined.
When you stop falling in love, you can start falling into place.
Now when we go to that little bar on Main Street, I know you’ll order a bottled beer and a shot of tequila. You know I’ll have a glass of wine, but then immediately regret it. We both know we will sit at the two top in front of the cracked mirror and split the mozzarella sticks.
But sometimes, it’s nice to know.