It was a lifelong dream of mine to write a love story; my love story.  So I did.  It was my wedding gift to Kevin.  I wrapped it up and had my personal attendant, Jordan, take it to him before we met on our wedding day.

We took it along to Mexico and read it, although I had the whole thing nearly memorized from the hours of writing and editing that I put into it.  It was sweeter somehow when I was tucked next to Kevin reading the book about us and how we came to be.  I wanted to be true to us though and, unfortunately, that meant that the book contained some of our great moments as well as our not-so-great moments.  Mostly, looking back, it was pretty great.

This book is to date one of my proudest accomplishments.  Sure, I found a few spelling errors that I missed, but, pshaw, sometimes you have to let it roll.  Besides, the truth is that this book is ours.  It’s the story of Kevin & I.  It’s our story.  It’s our love.

I wanted to always remember what it felt like to start falling.  I wanted to remember the silly fights we had and the struggles of a long-distance relationship.  I wanted to remember the joy of picking him up from the airport when he visited and the heart-wrenching sadness of hugging him goodbye.  I wanted to remember the shock when he proposed and the way our breath made puffs of air in the frigid Chicago night.  I wanted to remember the way it was back when we were just friends, back when we were only coworkers.  I wanted to remember the night I knew I was falling in love.  I wanted to remember the details.  A sour apple martini.  Green pajama pants for our first date.  (Although we can never really narrow it down to which dinner was our first date.  When did we morph from friends to dating?  We still don’t know.)  A snow ball fight.  A coworkers death.  Sadness, sorrow, happiness, joy, distance, closeness, kisses, tears, hand holding, laughter.