Today marks the 8 month anniversary of my first date with David. I fiend for each of these month markers, hoping that as each one passes, that it will start to feel like a real amount of time. Significant time. I had hopes that 8 moths would start to feel pretty solid, but it still sounds rather new to me, with possibilities for transience. Longer relationships than this have gone awry in my glorious history of love. I just want to get to be in a place and a time at which I’m not just the teeniest bit paranoid that it could all just not work out.
I do very much feel like he is permanent and that he’s everything I could possibly ever want to have in a partner. While I’ve been known to have some wrong thoughts in the past, I think this thought is right. I just want the validation of time behind me. I want to be sitting on a porch, holding hands when we’re 80 already! Admittedly, I will be 82 when he’s 80, but whatever.
Instead of continuing to wax psychotic over my insecurities, I will leave at that and say that I’m ever so very glad that I found him. I’m pretty amazed that I got such a fellow as this one and I’m thrilled about how well the last 8 months have gone. And I will try not to think any more about how when the relationship has lasted twice as long, it will have been 16 months, which is less time than it takes to gestate a baby elephant.