I was 19 when I met the man who would become my husband. He was 39.
I spent the next 5 years figuring out what I knew all along:
He’s the one.
Love doesn’t come with a map or a recipe. I probably wouldn’t read it if it did.
I would make up my own recipe, substituting here, improvising there, until it tastes like I like.
It isn’t always easy or pretty, and we have the same dumb fights over and over.
(sometimes about improvised recipes)
even on those days,
and on the days when we laugh at our crazy circus life together,
and also, today.
I’m thankful that he chose me.