I met a boy when I was 17. He was tan, shaggy haired, adorned in hemp, and sweeter than honey. He had the goofiest gait and his kisses made me go weak in the knees. I fell head over heels for him in 2.5 seconds flat.

Fast forward a decade (and a half). I look across the couch and there he is, sitting next to me, watching TV with the same shaggy hair over his eyes. His tan comes and goes. His hair is long and short. The hemp is gone, the sweetness still lingers. That weak in the knees, head over heels feeling? It hits me like a speeding bus. Sometimes we lose each other to the demands of work and raising a family, but we can always come back to the summer of 17.

And as we look forward we see summer nights spent rocking on a porch swing drinking iced tea and watching the sunset, our grey hair catching in the last light of day. Our dreams of 17 are realized in the small moments of every day. The laughter of our sons, the knowing looks across the kitchen, the bickering over household chores. This is him, and me, and us.  Simple and sweet. 

The night we met.

Linking up with Heather of the EO!


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