We were young, but not as young as a many. We were strong and independent, and we became adults together. We had love, and now we know what love means. There is no longer such a thing as an awkward silence. We repair each others' wounds. We have fights and end them with a joke. A call. An apology.
He is not a husband and I am not a wife. He is Kyle, I am Kate. We are more than a band, an expensive party, a piece of paper issued by the state. We are this crappy old house, our slowly aging cars, the boxes of memories disintegrating in the garage and the two sleeping balls of energy, recharging for the night, only to start all over again tomorrow. We're bottles of wine (too many to count) and foot rubs and trips to Mexico and the death of three grandparents. We're three cats and five chickens, a few failed gardens and a crock pot of carnitas. We are the smile lines that are softly forming around our eyes and the wiry silver hairs poking through on the top of our heads.
We are warm, and comfortable, and easy. And we are perfect.