Last night Josh and I were making our way through the DVR and at the end of one of our favorite shows two of our favorite characters kissed the kind of TV kiss where they got everything right.
It was sexy, romantic, touching, and very very hot. We watched it twice.
And then I burst into tears.
It took 20 minutes of sobbing for me to articulate to my freaked-out husband what was wrong. Why I went from enjoying a great TV kiss to bawling on the sofa. Romance. First kisses. The rush when love blooms. I’m never going to feel that way again, and it’s something I never knew I needed to grieve.
Not that my life is devoid of romance, that loves-first-blush romance is long gone but a slow burn steady romance has grown in it’s place.
It’s there everyday, sometimes hidden, easy to miss if you aren’t paying attention.
When my husband and I meet each other’s eyes over the head of our tantrum throwing toddler, both of us trying not to laugh.
How every Monday morning I have a full gas tank despite not having been to the gas station once myself in the last 6 months.
When I wake up at 5 on Saturday morning and find that my husband saved the last 4 episodes of my favorite show for me so I can watch them in peace before the rest of the house awakens.
Clean socks, charged cell phones, cold Gatorade, packed lunches, magically appear.
This is the kind of romance that can sustain a lifetime. And given the choice I’d pick it over that heart racing butterflies in the stomach rush everyday.