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r/relationships_advice • Posted by u/thisiszephyrus 10 hours ago

⬇ It's been a year, I should have moved on, but I can't.

Marriage

I [28M] cannot move on from my husband [28M] even after one year of marriage. It still felt like I had just married him yesterday; and the rush, and the excitement had never receded.

Today was our first year anniversary. I would be lying if I said I didn't keep updated with my calendar to count down the days. My husband seemed like he wasn't aware of anything. He woke up earlier than me, proceeding to cook breakfast like usual. I couldn't bear to stay in bed without him, so I woke up too.

I had been dating him for years. We were roommates before, so it was safe to say, that I had to be familiar with the morning routine. It didn't change much over the year, except when you added some romantic aspects to it after we were dating and then getting married.

Yet, watching him standing in the kitchen, humming a random song I didn't recognize, I could not move.

He was always breathtaking.

Always had.

But it had been one year after our marriage, and watching him cook our breakfast shouldn't faze me this much. And yet, I stood there like a fool, being hypnotized.

My husband eventually noticed my silent presence, and he acted like he acted for years: teasing me for spying on him, but still pulling me down for a brief morning kiss before he continued to get his cooking done.

The morning continued, breakfast, brief intimacy here and there, goodbye kiss to start the day.

Today was Saturday, so it meant that he only had half-day work, just like I did. He was capable of riding his own bike to his office, but Saturday was a special time, I got to pick him up from work.

After wrapping up my shop (I ran a bike shop, and he worked in a fashion designing firm), I went to fetch him.

It was not a strange thing to do. I had done this a million times, even before we got married.

I would park my Zephyr (that's my bike) and wait for him to come out.

We had been married for a year, and we had been dating even longer; but I couldn't help the goofy smile whenever I saw him walking toward me with his co-workers.

I couldn't help being menacingly possessive when several co-workers seemed way too close to my husband.

My husband gave me an exasperated look, but he indulged me anyway when I pulled him for a 'hello-i-am-picking-you-up' kiss (in which, to establish the nature of our relationship with his co-workers, and besides, I always loved kissing him, so win-win).

He scolded me for acting so childish, but he melted to the kiss, just like I did, so I didn't really take his complaint seriously.

It was just like any other day, but at the same time, it was different too.

We were cooking side by side (I had gotten a hang of this field, thanks to him). I swore I was getting better at slicing and dicing, but damn if I was clumsy, and I accidentally cut myself.

I was not panicking, but my husband? He acted like he hadn't seen me getting bruised all over years (we used to be in the same gang, back in our rebellious age). He fetched me the first aid kit, chiding me for not being careful.

It had been years, but all of the worries, and his attention, stunned me.

I could only watch when he fixed my wound, just like when we were young and we were getting into a brawl. I watched him, and I realized that I had never wanted this man to not tend to me whenever I got hurt. It wasn't bandages or bandaids that healed me. It was his presence.

He looked up, and said, "You're alright, now. How about you're sitting there and let me finish the rest of this?"

I had my hesitation to kiss him breathlessly for years. Years got wasted because I was too afraid of my own feeling, of the possibility of getting vulnerable.

And now, I could just reach for his face and did exactly that.

I had done it countless times now, and yet, it was just like the first time.

The rush, the adrenaline, the overwhelming feeling I had for him.

He patted my cheek, and I stole one last kiss again, just because I could.

After dinner (Karubidon, the meal we had shared when we first met and now the meal to be served whenever we had a special occasion), we went to bed. He was in my arms, reading a book. I raked my fingers through his hair, wondering how could I be so lucky.

He had to sense I was tense because he looked up at me and asked me, "what's on your mind?"

He was.

He was in my mind.

All day.

Every day.

Not a single day was spent without him, running in my mind.

So, I told him, the things I was afraid to say before I got all the courage in the world.

It wasn't the first, it was the umpteenth.

But maybe, I always sucked at counting, because it never felt like that I said it enough.

"I love you, Taka," I told him.

And he would look at me like, I was his everything, and said, "I love you too, Ken."

It had been a year since we promised ourselves to each other. I should get used to it. 

It had been a year, and longer, and longer, and longer than that.

But it hasn't lost the magic.

Nobody fell in love with their husband every single day, did they?

I should have moved on.

The problem is, I don't think I will ever be.

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