The Collector and I recently hosted one of his college friends and his girlfriend. I asked them how long they’ve been dating — three months. Which made me think about what the Collector and I were doing at three months into our relationship – we were dropping the L bomb for the first time, the Collector exuberantly and me a bit reluctantly, the night before I hopped a flight to Guatemala.
I can’t believe we’ve been together for two years. That’s two years of power struggles over dirty dishes; two years of trying and failing and trying and flailing to understand each other’s weird brains. And we’ve had so much fun through all of that.
One of the best things about the Collector, albeit one of the things that drives me most mad – funny how those pair together like beer and onion rings – is he hardly speaks. In the beginning of our coupledom, when most people talk endlessly about their lives up to that point, we hardly said a word. This has, unexpectedly, worked out really well for us.
We’re still unwrapping each other’s onion layers. Many, many years from now we could still be discovering untold things about each other. On occasion, it’s probably my raw curiosity that keeps me here.