Coming Home

Many times in my life I thought I was in love. Turns out I was not. Not even close. Part of me knew that at the time, but a larger part of me was sure that even though that might be true... I could always make it what I wanted it to be. Turns out I was wrong about that too.

Realizing what a cliche this is, I'm going to say it anyway. Meeting Mark was like coming home for the first time in my lifetime. I was 31. I had been married before, I had been in my fair share (and then some) of adult relationships. The first night we met, I knew. I couldn't tell you what exactly, I knew... but I knew it was different, special. I didn't realize how exactly right I was.

We've been together just over two years now... every morning he kisses me goodbye and I miss him already. I can't wait to talk to him later in the day (he calls me every morning at 9am, it's the sweetest thing ever and it makes my day.) After we get off work, I can't wait to get home and see him.

As far as literal "coming home"... when I walk in the door I am greeted by the most enthusiastic creature known to mankind. My pup Thor cannot wait even one second to be picked up. He is whining and jumping and scratching. And as soon as you pick him up, he puts both paws around your neck and puts his cheek to your cheek for the best puppy hug you've ever had. It's awesome!

So, the point of this rambling entry is this: There is no place like home. There is no place like home. There is no place like home.