A week ago I proposed marriage, and John accepted. I’d planned it for half a year and it’s such a relief to have that done. We’ve known each other over twelve years and been together for four. I’m touched by the outpouring of congratulations. The words that come out are clinical, almost blocked, though. I feel zoned out: I just want to get the logistics of the wedding dealt with (booking the judge, getting the license, measuring for and ordering rings, arranging the family dinner after). It just feels like a formality at this point, but a welcome one. Ratifying what’s already there.
I’m writing a love story that is not much like my own. That’s easier, somehow, than talking about my love life because I don’t know what to share and what not to about John, so I tend to err on the side of not sharing. So this is short and sweet and for posterity.