You loved her at sixteen.
Defiant but fragile in her own ways;
Hungry for an uncertain future;
Awkwardly growing up even when she felt like she was regressing.
You loved her at twenty.
With wavering confidence that often held her down;
Simultaneously terrified of and impatient for what was to come of you and her;
Full of hope and yearning for a boy 700 miles away.
You will love her at thirty, fifty, seventy years old.
A romance that’s more than an initial spark but a indistinguishable flame itself;
Two hearts who always find their way back to each other;
Love that is permanent.
And she loves you just the same.