Our Relationship Is The Most Unremarkable Love Story, But I Like It That Way

You poked me on Facebook, and for a while I really wasn’t sure what to say. I thought that maybe we’d have fun for a bit, then go our separate ways. I never told you that I wasn’t looking for love, but I assumed you felt the same.

You eventually offered me some cherry cobbler. And for a while, I thought you were gay. Even after our first date, I didn’t know if I wanted to stay. I never told you that I felt scared, but somehow you knew anyway.

Our life really is an unremarkable love story. There was never any heated passion or unquenchable thirst. I’m not even sure how or why we fell in love, but here we are, still together to this day.

I’m thankful for the late-night Taco Bell runs and the extra shots of rum. Although we fight from time to time, our lives could easily be far worse. We’re not living it up like your college roommates, but who even liked them anyway? 

I wouldn’t trade our memories, both the good and the bad, for anything. Although you’re no knight in shining armor, I was never into playing the princess, so I feel fine. We make our mundane marriage work, and these days, that’s all I could ever hope for.

Our relationship is the most unremarkable love story, but I honestly like it that way. It’s a tale like no other, an endless novel of everyday life. I’m thankful that you shook my hand, and even more grateful that you rang my bell.

I almost threw up the first time we had sex, but it’s much better now, so thanks. I’d always wanted a foot popping-kiss, but I’ve settled for comfortable silence and lots of laughter. I never told you to prepare for my idiosyncrasies, but you seem to handle my crazy well enough.

Nobody can take away our bond, and no movie could ever recreate it. We may not go down in history, but I never really cared for Rudolph, so that’s OK. 

Thank you for being my unremarkable love story, the tale I’ll never forget. I know that even in my dying days, this seemingly boring life we’ve made will matter more than anything else that remains.

Originally Published on Thought Catalog

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