She stood wrapped in his strong arms, sheltered by his love, and basking in the tranquility of his strength. Telling the story of their meeting was no easy task. Not that its a hard story to tell, but they kept interrupting each other to tell yet another fun fact or to tease about yet another…

We stood on the solid ground, looking up at the flight of rickety stairs waiting to be climbed. She halfway rolled her eyes, trying to convince him she didn’t really want to climb up there in her heels. Oh, she convinced him alright. He knew full well that she was stepping out of her comfort…

She handed her ticket to the bored high schooler. He didn’t really want to be there. A fair’s a fair, said his eyes. And too many enthusiastic, sugar crazed individuals were making his life miserable. But at least it was a paycheck, even if it was tedious work. She ignored his rude cynicism and bounced…

   All over the city they would go. Rambling, meandering, strolling. Just walking. Talking. Learning. Growing. Being. For them, it was no falling into love; there was no flash of lightning or strike of cupid’s arrow.  No pivotal moment of dramatic proportion. Instead, they walked from college to downtown, from downtown to old town, from…

I wiped the sweat out of my eyes and felt it dripping down my back. Standing next to the Potomatc River in the closest-thing-to-a-rain-forest-in-Northern-Virginia,  I listened to her tell me about his letters and swatted away a mosquito.  We left the river walked back up the hill, chasing the sunlight (I wanted the promised ice…

  “He writes me letters on college ruled paper,” she told me, “And he has ever since we got together. I love his letters — he has such a way with words.” He writes her letters. Stacks and stacks of letters. And she has them all. Tied with a cream ribbon. To read. To remember….