scribblechic

It is the shortest month, one so often swept under the exhaustive anticipation of romance. To my little family, it is the month my husband and I celebrate our anniversary with unexceptional attention and thoughtful recognition. Marriage, unlike the luster of romance, is a labor of love; the daily tending to of dreams we craft with another’s joy in mind greater than a confetti of acknowledgment that clutter a more genuine humility with colorful demonstrations of elaborate excess.

Children and pets, home and work pull at our attention with a necessity of care; a misconception of ease that undermines the value of holding hands and stealing smiles in the fervent busyness of the world’s demands. It is not the day to come that weighs us in recognition of togetherness, but all the days we chose one another in simpler acts of love; unglamorous demonstrations of friendship and passion, kindness and patience that weigh the brevity of February with the fortitude of every yesterday between us.

Tagged: Anniversary, February, Love, Musings