They say timing is everything, but I never really believed that. Timing always felt like some cruel joke, showing me glimpses of something good just before pulling it away. I knew what it was like to start something and burn it down myself, to get lost in attachment issues, to sit in emptiness so long it felt like home. I got used to sabotaging things before they had the change to grow.
And then there was you.
The beginning wasn't grand. No fireworks, no movie-scene kiss in the rain. It was quieter than that, like slipping into a conversation mid-sentence and realizing you already know the rhythm. It just fit.
Our first "big thing" wasn't a house, or a car, or some dream vacation. It was a motorcycle. A beat-up, loyal machine that carried us through winding roads and sunsets that didn't care about our problems. We rode with empty pockets but fill hearts, laughing at nothing, stopping for cheap food on the side of the road, leaning into each turn as if the world had finally given us something we didn't need to fight. That motorcycle wasn't just transportation, it was freedom. It was us.
Then came the house. Not the dream house you see on Pinterest boards, but ours. Walls that held the echoes of our quiet arguments and the soft sounds of our making up. A roof we sometimes worried about during heavy rains, but still, it was ours. We painted, we patched, we dreamed. Every corner carried fingerprints of struggle and victory.
The car came next, less romantic, more practical. Groceries, work, late-night drives when we needed to clear our heads. It came less about what we owned and more about what we were building together: a life. Brick by brick. Ride by ride. Mile by mile.
And life? It still has its sharp edges. Family issues, expectations, days when everything feels heavier that it should. But here's the difference now, I don't carry it alone. Even in the mess, there's peace. The peace of waking up and knowing you're beside me. The peace of facing storms with a partner who doesn't flinch.
We're not perfect. We struggle, we stumble, we disagree. But we also laugh, God, we laugh. At dumb things, at ourselves, at the randomness of it all. And that laughter feels like home, the kind of home I once thought I'd never find.
So yeah, maybe timing is everything. Not because you showed up when I had it all figured out, but because together we figured it out, piece by piece. From the motorcycle rides to the walls we built to the car filled with groceries and dreams, we created something I never thought I'd have: peace.
And peace, after everything, feels like the rarest kind of love.
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