When I get asked why I hang out with and talk so much about my male friends, or how come A. sometimes doesn’t go where I go, or why he spends so much time in Russia, or all those other questions people like to ask me, here’s what I think about.
There was a time a while ago when I thought I wasn’t yet in love with him and he thought he wasn’t in love with me anymore, and I happened to spend a night on his shoulder. He was courteous enough to keep both his shirts on, and even his socks. He hardly moved all night. I’d never been that comfortable before. Some time later we ended up together.
For a while people said they had never seen a couple as perfect as we were. We clung to each other for dear life, living proof that love existed. Then we calmed down. The reason for that is that in those first months our love was very much on the surface. I wasn’t sure what was going on inside me, and A. proclaimed his support of any choice I would make. All that we had was this mad affection we showed off like a war banner.
Now we have fought those battles. The banner is gone. The love has rooted itself so deep inside that it might be less visible from the outside. But the core and essence of my heart consists of him. I still go to sleep on his shoulder. I still hold on to his hand. He is still my guide, my guru, my husband, and my friend. He is the father of my every imaginary son. Every home I’ve ever pictured was tailored to his height.
However many crushes I might get on my friends, however many hours we might spend apart, however many rows we might have, he is the port I come back to. I am His Majesty’s Ship, and while tomorrow is the designated day of love for everyone around us, I am firmly anchored to him every day of the year.