I have the ability to ruin perfect moments. The other night I laid sobbing on Dylan's bed. I had a belly full of Waffle House and Absolut and when Dylan begged to know what was wrong, I shouted, "Because I love you!" The next day I hated myself. How could I have tainted such a beautiful moment? I should have waited.
But Dylan said, "You know, maybe that's how it was supposed to happen. Every moment has its little imperfections. But don't beat yourself up. We have had some pretty special nights."
And that's when I began to think about all of those perfect moments. It may not have been the first time I said, "I love you" or any other significant milestone in a relationship, but they were incredible nonetheless. These moments were as small as slow dancing in the kitchen or baking lumpy sugar cookies at midnight or waking up every morning and discovering new ways to make pancakes.
I always get wrapped up in the big moments, because society tells us they should happen a certain way. But the compilation of the small, beautiful, tender moments are all that matters, because who determines if the sun pours through the window panes at a certain angle or whether the sky is blue that day or if some sparkly classical music is playing in the background? And who cares? All I know is that he's the first boy to make me cry tears of joy and, hey, I love 'im.