My Valentine

I know all the cool kids hate Valentine's Day, but I just can't deny my excitement every.single.year. I feel like my love affair with V-Day is pretty objective because before Jordan, I never had a beau to share in the festivities with. (That's what happens when you marry your first love.) 

I think any reason we're given to show love is certainly worth celebration. Sure, the romantic aspect is lovely and all, but spreading love everywhere makes me so happy and excited there's not even a word for it. Now that Jordan has come along, I have even more reasons to love the holiday for love. 

As I try to contain my giddiness this year, I can't help but reminisce over the last 4.5 years I've had with Jordan. I like to avoid the cheesiness and the cliches people fall into when talking about those they care about, but I never want anyone, including Jordan, to doubt my love and adoration for him. . . so sue me. I'm a little TMI on occasion.

I met Jordan August 16, 2008. I was busy moving everything I owned into my shared room at Valley View Tower-- room 611, and trying to send an aura of confidence, maturity, and fun out to my new friends. And then . . .

There he was.

Now here's where to many, my story loses credit (but to everyone, it gets really gagorific):

I insistently knew the boy who's name I didn't even know yet would somehow change the course of my life, forever. I've never felt that feeling before, or since.

Because I hadn't ever experienced that, I didn't give those feelings much worth. I introduced myself as I had to a gagillion other people that day, and carried on.

As the day continued, I heard the girls whispering and giggling-- all declaring they would be the one to win thecutestboytheyhaveeverseen's love. I of course, would never follow the crowd. I also know better than to get between a girl and the future love of her life.*

After everyone got settled, a bunch of us started playing games. We were in the middle of Apples to Apples when Jordan came over. Soon after, my mom called. Jordan was sitting next to me, so I asked him to take my place while I went to talk. 

He gave me the death stare, and refused.

death stare

Awkward . . . 

I thought even the possibility of friendship was lost with this sir-cranks-a-lot. I was over it though. I don't fight for love or acceptance from those who don't want to offer it freely to me. The girls continued to swoon over him and I kept my distance. 

As the drama heightened between the crowds of females throwing themselves at him, and as I avoided getting in the middle of anything, we found friendship. I'd get him dates, and he'd come over in the early hours of the morning to tell me about them. We'd go to the basement to laugh and talk and sometimes just sit in silence. That was the perfection of our friendship. We had no expectations, and yet felt more satisfied with our time together than the time we spent with anyone else. 

By October, I had decided I was tired of seeing him go out with other girls, and he decided to fess up that he didn't want to be going on dates with anyone but me. . . 

*the operative word in this sentence being know. I know, now. Kinda caused a few issues back then. But it was all worth it. I get to come home to the kindest soul every day, and I don't want anything but that.

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