365 days. July 25, 2007

There is a pile of wedding magazines in a basket at the foot of your bed. You’ve torn pages from each one, compiled inspiration into a folder that you told your fiancé was “priceless, so please place that Diet Coke at least fifty feet away from it.” 
 
There is a ring on your finger. You still catch yourself staring at it at random moments throughout the day. You’re not normally so superficial, but you love that ring. It’s perfect. You coo at it when no one is around.  
 
There is a date and a church and the most perfect reception site in the history of reception sites and that is a fact. You and your fiancé picked each one. You will be starting your marriage on that date, in those places.  
 
And yet, it doesn’t feel real. 
 
How could it possibly be real? Isn’t this some sort of cruel joke by that infamous prankster, The Universe? 
 
In a year, you will be getting married.  
 
“Come in a little closer,” you say, “I have a little secret.” You never thought it – all of it – was really going to happen to you.  
 
You thought you’d end up alone. (Pity that you be the only person in the universe to have that fear.) 
 
You’d waded through the Outright Mr. Wrongs and the Mr. “Ehhh”s and the Mr. Wrongs Who You Thought Were Mr. Rights But Turned Out To Be, Yeah, Mr. Wrongs. You’d had your fill, thank you very much.  
 
Enter M, who taught you the definition of “life altering.” Who bit by bit, day by day, gave you more and more hope that maybe you wouldn’t end up alone at 48, in an apartment full of cats (nevermind that you are, in fact, allergic to cats), with a great career and a great collection of wine and absolutely no one to share it with except for your Smug Married friends. 
 
He gave you hope that you could fall - and stay - in love. You truly didn’t think that was really possible. You can’t emphasize that enough.  
 
M was different. Not in a tangible way. He just was. You could feel it. If you believed in auras, you would’ve felt his come in like a cool, refreshing breeze after years of hot and sticky. 
 
With M, you realized you could have love without condition. You could love someone just as much as they love you. You could stare off into the future and see nothing but sunshine and rainbows and fairies sprinkling dust over the two of you as you twirl in fields of gold.  
 
Or something.  
 
One year from today, you will be Mrs. M. 365 days from now, you will be awake, with butterflies in your stomach, drinking a mimosa and alternately crying and laughing and then crying again. You won’t believe your luck. You will ask the universe that if this is, in fact, a three year dream, please don’t wake you up for another 100 years, just to be safe.  
 
You already feel married today, in 2007, one year prior. The wedding is just a grand (“and expensive,” your father would add, with a smile) way of celebrating the fact that you found each other.
 
The fact that you found someone who made you believe.