In a different story, our past and our history is just fabric sewn into one another, making something beautiful together for the future. A tie to the past and a bridge to the future. Confident with one another lost in a world people tried to ruin for us.
In a different lifetime, I could tell them I told you so. That I was right about you and us. That all the time I spent emotionally, physically, mentally invested was worth it. That we made it. Someone I believed in more than myself. Someone I loved more than myself at times.
In a different story, you would have been my plus one and not the empty seat at a wedding.
In a different lifetime, you would have been there for every holiday. The ones the struggled through alone at times because sometimes family is too much.
In a different story, I would have been the one going on your family vacations. Building relationships with your siblings. More than knowing names I would have known who they were and they would have known me.
In a different lifetime, we wouldn’t have been each other’s best-kept secret.
In a different story, I would have been the one you came home to and not just some call along the way. The kiss when you walk through the door. The one you had dinner with. The one you talked about your day to.
I would have been the moving boxes we stacked. The walls that got repainted. The house we made a home together.
The nights we didn’t sleep lying next to one another. Learning how the right touch can change the way you love.
In a different lifetime would have been on our side and not always against us. Because we never could seem to be in the right place at the right time.
In a different story, I would have been the one you thought to buy a ring for and you would have known exactly where to ask me and that I would have said yes.
In a different lifetime, we would have fussed over vows and you would be anxious because mine were gonna be better.
In a different story, my dad would have handed me off with confidence knowing very well you would take care of me in every sense of the word and he wouldn’t be scared to let go.
In a different lifetime, we would have told a room full of people our story and my best friend would stand beside me, laughing that we made it but saying something like she always knew because we never gave up on each other.
We never did quit.
In a different story, there would have been Sundays laying in bed and walks to the beach. Slow dances by the fire where we each realize how lucky we are.
In a different lifetime, you would have been the hand that held mine in the hospital. As we created something more beautiful than any words could describe. And we’d argue over names but finally agree, looking down at this person and realizing we made someone who is perfect.
In a different lifetime, I would have been the hand that held yours understanding your silence not asking for words to comprehend the pain heavy in your heart. I would have been the strong one when you couldn’t be. The one beside you dressed in black. Mourning a loss that hurt me too.
In a different story, we’d sit by a fire worried about the kids. Wondering if we’d make our parents same mistakes. But knowing very well neither of us would let that happen.
In a different lifetime, we’d find ourselves arguing because no marriage is perfect but we’d always figure it out. Because we always have. And I know you’d never let me go to bed angry.
In a different lifetime, we would have been that relationship that grew old as our fingers aged holding one another’s hand, being this love story people could believe in. And when people ask how long we’ve loved each other the number 60+ years would give them hope.
In a different story, the words forever would have held its weight.
Being that love story, everyone else included me wanted.
In a different story, we don’t break each other’s hearts or cause pain. We would have just made it.