Three Years From Then

"You were just this girl I met. No one important. I wasn't supposed to be here with you, now, three years down the road. I wasn't supposed to remember your name, or your face or the way you smooth your hands together when you're nervous or how you constantly pluck at your shirt when you meet someone new. You were only supposed to be "that girl I dated freshman year". Maybe not even that. Just a blip. Insignificant. So why are you still here?"

We got lost somewhere, didn’t we? We must have, because we’re nowhere that’s familiar to me. I thought that our journey together would be short. That we wouldn’t get anywhere, really. You were just this girl I met. No one important. I wasn’t supposed to be here with you, now, three years down the road. I wasn’t supposed to remember your name, or your face or the way you smooth your hands together when you’re nervous or how you constantly pluck at your shirt when you meet someone new. You were only supposed to be “that girl I dated freshman year”. Maybe not even that. Just a blip. Insignificant. So why are you still here?

Amber. That name? I made fun of you for it in my head. I mean, really, who names their kid Amber anymore? Only hippies and hipsters and movie stars just smart enough to cross Blue Ivy off the “baby’s name” list. You were pretty, though, in this sort of soft way with your flannel button ups and baggy jeans. I didn’t date girls like you. I didn’t date the boring ones. But Amber? Amber, for I made an exception. My first different girl. You were an experiment, something temporary. You didn’t change me and I didn’t change you, we still have the same friends and the same lives and you still wear the same flannel shirts. So how did things work out? I don’t even know, and I’m not really sure that you know, either, for all of your quiet understanding. So if we don’t even know how we got here, then how do we know where we’re supposed to go? I mean, I feel like I just woke up from a coma. Like I’m Neo in the Matrix living some fabricated life. I know the people who surround me and I’m working the job I always wanted. Corporate financing. Isn’t that pathetic. But there’s one thing that I didn’t count on and that’s you. Amber. I’m not really sure who you are. I’ve known you for three years. Three years of living together and breathing together and surviving together. Three years that passed too quickly for me to realize just where they slipped away to. I’m not sure that I want to give the rest of my life to you. I’m not all that sure that I meant to give you the time that I have. Maybe I need for you to convince me. Am I worth it? Am I worth convincing?

Tell me, Amber. I want to know, honestly, I do. Because that decides everything. That decides if I can describe to you the way my heart gives this heavy, solid thump when I first see you in the morning. If I can tell you that I love how cool your hands are because mine are always too warm. It decides if I can tell you that I have a velvet box sitting in my dresser drawer. A box that contains that ring your attention is always snared by when we pass by the jewelry store. There’s a receipt sitting next to it, and nothing’s final yet. Nothing is final until you convince me. But Amber? Can I just tell you that I love you? Even though I never thought that I would three years from then. And Amber? I’d like to think that I’m worth convincing. And Amber-last thing, I swear, even if you don’t, just know – I do.

The End

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