Crazy in Love

You think you know what love is about. You date. You laugh at his jokes, even when they're not funny. You go to nice restaurants and dive restaurants and like them just the same because you're with him. You fumble over the three words the first time you say them...who will say them first? Will he feel the same way? Am I going too fast? Where are we going? And you meet his family (and they meet you). You spend years together, dating, and then you marry and it's the apex of your love. You will never love each other more than you do at that very second that you say, "I do."

Except that's not true. It's not about the big things, the grand gestures, the public displays of affection. It's the smell of his skin when you bury your face in his shoulder while you wait for your deli meat to be sliced. It's the sound of his footsteps, running towards you in the dark because you've forgotten your headphones for the 3-mile training walk you've put off until 9:00 pm on a Sunday. It's feeling the car shake with his laughter when you make fun of the silly suburbanites. It's the first 13th of the month since you were married passing without flowers arriving at work. It's finally - Lord, finally! - being able to sleep soundly through the night in the bed you share with him, because your body and mind have finally - finally! - accepted the fact that he's home, he's yours, and you're safe.

Love validates. It liberates. It makes you feel simultaneously bigger than your house and infinitesimally small. There is no size limit on love, nor time limit, nor any limit at all (unless you place one there). I didn't realize two years ago that we weren't as much in love as we could be, or should be - how could I? Love isn't love until it's tested, until you have to fight for it, until you realize that it can break your heart...and then you hold it even tighter.

I am the luckiest woman in the world and I need no Kate Spade purse (no matter how cheap they are at the Exchange) to feel that way now.