Thirteen is not such an unlucky number in my estimation.
About this time, exactly 13 months ago, I was seated at the patio table on my front porch conversing with the woman with whom I would soon fall in love. It was the night we first met. I prepared a simple dinner and we dined outside on the breezy porch, enjoying the warm summer night. She was startlingly pretty and our conversation flowed easily; no self-conscious intervals of silence. Time advanced so quickly; I was sorry to see her leave after such a wonderful evening.
I love her for the person she is without me: a sister, aunt, cousin, colleague, friend, dog-mom, and the person she is with me: my beloved partner in life. I love myself for the person I am with her and the person I am striving to become.
We commemorated this day in a rather ordinary way, sprinkled with love and tenderness, grateful for the infinite gifts of the day.