Coketalk (sorry I still call you that, but it’s really what first comes to mind when I think of you)–I proposed marriage to the man I love in the wee hours of this morning after staying up all night. The day before we went to Clearwater beach and took acid to celebrate our first anniversary. We actually don’t have a specific “date”, we have a two-ish week period in between the night we first slept together and the night I told him I loved him and if he wasn’t okay with that to get out of my apartment. At 3 a.m. After he insulted my favorite band. For some reason, he stayed. For some reason, I let him. I guess it’s because he loved me or wanted to love me and that was enough for then. That was enough for me then, too. But this morning he said yes and then realized what the fuck I actually just did and got scared. I was as supportive and apologetic as possible because its kind of a fucked up thing to do to someone, isn’t it. But I just didn’t worry about if he was going to change his mind. It didn’t matter. His answer didn’t fucking matter. It’s only been a day. He could change his mind tomorrow. But we were married today, in our hearts and heads and synapses between nerves and blood and hands. We were married the second I started crying after he realized I was serious and kissed me, we were married when he almost backed out, we were married that night over a year ago when I said “I love you” not because I wanted him to feel loved but because I was such an absolute wreck of a human that I couldn’t stand the thought of him being in my life if he couldn’t deal with ME–me in my head, real me, the actual feelings and thoughts that make up my own reality. And quite frankly, it’s not fair to me OR him for me not to be 100% authentic and that’s what our entire relationship has revolved around. Since that night when I told him I loved him the first time it’s been a slow crawl, sometimes a race, sometimes a drag and a hell of a lot of fun to get to where I am: a changed woman, in control of her life, master of her own Universe, at peace with her parents and sexuality and inevitable death, in love with a man who had a crush on her in 7th grade (for real. Long story) who I know could disappear from the Earth tonight by accident or from my life in the morning by choice…and who I’m okay with loving even despite the cautionary tales and the knowledge that we are just monkeys born in 2016 with the privilege of using language and toilet paper and WiFi (alternate reality: God wants us to fuck and make love into oblivion and make thousands of babies and reward us for our good karma with happy, fat lives? We’ll never know the difference either way, so why not enjoy right?). Because really, Coke, it was a marriage of myself. To life itself and to me for as long as we both and I shall live. Amen. And thanks for being a big, necessary part of it, you crazy fuck. Love, love, love, me.
I’m happy for you. I’m happy for him. I’m happy for everyone who reads this and understands.
Keep up the good work, and enjoy whatever comes next.