I hadn’t thought of this or planned to mention it at all, but here at the “end” of this love-labouring, where – because of the way I wander to weave – I rewind backward through the collated / collected content, which turned up this:
It’s probablythe first of us – and apt beyond!
That’s Kim and I.
She is three months older than I am (though I’m obviously way more mature).
That proximity has proven to be:
a) the ultimate life-lotto silver-lining, and so
b) really impressive coordination by our parents
Just look at how besotted I was!
And nothing has changed.
We are fierce in the way we care. So we will rally and rant with unmitigated volumes.
In her (now) 38 years and my 37 – but staggeringly more mature I am, I am – we cycle through rhythms where we speak several times a day, and others where we don’t – or aren’t! – speaking for months.
Like I said: nothing has changed.
That’s how besotted works. Because if you aren’t – at either end of affection’s appreciation or dumbfounded derision – you don’t care to notice or be affected by anything contrary. Ever. Either way.
Not that I have ever engaged in any passive-aggressive behaviour, ever (and especially not in cases where I have / was / am / may have been in love with someone unavailable… *cough* I only know about how this works because I read someone else’s story on it in the agony aunt column in the YOU magazine), but if I did… my theory stands: even the pubescent-level of pouring over everything but each other, is the promise that our commitment to caring about how the other one is really doing… is really DNA-deep.
For as long as I can remember, this supernova-soul has been ever next to me; my pre-made VIP. Us two the ever Second-in-Commands to our older sisters… who… no doubt saw themselves as Second-in-Commands to the respective parental units – only.
The parental units have no doubt seen times where they were unsure that their brilliant coordination was such a good idea. Like when – despite loud objections that they couldn’t have wanted it less – the four of us would perform “elaborate” productions (preceded only by hours of prep, dess-up, some sort of coordinating whatever music we had with a story about Jesus) for them every. single. time. our families got together. And because nobody should work for free, we charged them for it too.
We haven’t changed too much. The singing-every-word just happens a lot later at night these days. And I’m not saying we definitely did trade the Oros for something stronger… and I’m not saying we didn’t. We’ve laughed, cried, rewound and repeated to all of it. It’s a blessing to have memories like I do with you Kim! I love you more than you will ever know!
PS: Being Kim’s birthday, I have made every genuine effort to not highlight the vast spans of difference in our maturities, which – even though denied by Kim – is in fact something that everyone talks about.
Like, all the time basically.
But I didn’t want to use her birthday to draw attention to myself in anyway whatsoever.
I’m not that guy.
So I thought all this:
…which got me to this…
…and celebrated it all with this.
Err… because I love you madly.