Love is a funny thing, isn’t it.
It starts off all hearts and flowers – the butterflies in your stomach, the long phonecalls, the days spent in bed forgetting about household chores and deadlines.
You promise that it will be like that forever. Swear there will never be a fight, that you’ll never raise your voices or go to bed angry. You convince yourself that what you have is different, better, perfect….
Then, after six months or so – the little things that you thought were so very cute for the first couple of months start to grate just a little bit. The habits you thought you could put up with suddenly start to seem like deal-breakers. You realise you don’t like some of his friends. He realises he doesn’t like you when you drink white wine. The cracks that you never thought would show start to become painfully apparent…doubts creep in…and then you come through the other side.
But isn’t that what love’s really is all about.
It’s about loving someone who isn’t perfect.
It’s about soaring through the good times and riding out the bad.
It’s about giving that other person a little bit of yourself and trusting that they will keep it safe.
I like my relationship now that we have settled in to it. OK, so we’re not walking round in a permanently lust filled bubble anymore – but we are good. We know each others faults and are happy to live with them. We fight, but we make up. We may not get butterflies every time the other walks into the room but we still get excited about seeing each other and try not to spend too much time sleeping apart.
So yes, while that initial stage is wonderful and exciting and full of electricity and the unknown, I think I’m happier here, secure and safe with a man who loves me and knows me inside out.
It’s a very nice place to be.