I can’t easily describe the love I have for my husband.
There’s the before: back where it all began, when that newfound understanding of what love allows was like poetry manifest. It leveled everything in its path. Before, there were no hurdles. Our love transcended imaginary lines; national borders could not confine how we felt about each other.
The now is filled with that very same poetry, yet we must prove our feelings to a third party. Thus, we wait.
Yet, now is still a good time. I’m visiting my husband (only allowed a visit) in Glasgow. The little things are nice: time to cook, to wait at home, to revel in the simple joy of a clean kitchen. Of course, seeing my husband when he comes home from work, exhausted, is the best. It is us, together, living in a window of now.
But, I’m genuinely excited for the after. The after represents our freedom: a house, our careers, a puppy, a baby, holidays, and – most importantly – the certainty of each other, everyday. Our lives come after. I want the poetry of after.
For the moment, we exist in the interstice between the words of our vows and the deeds of them. For now, I’ll wrap myself in our love. I’ll be grateful, knowing I am lucky to have it, while looking forward to after – an after where we use our love, brick by brick, to build our lives together.