Lovebirds

We speculate now and then about our first fight. Its a pastime of ours. It’s been 9 months but we’re still honeymooning, there’s been challenges sure, and a few tense moments, but we haven’t made each other angry, and we haven’t made each other cry. We’re curious about those sides of each other.

“I don’t know, I can’t see it happening, maybe we’ll just never fight,” she said, her face resting against my stomach, my curtains blowing a little in the breeze, my neighbour’s lawnmower droning in the background while we hide in bed.

“That’s ridiculous,” I’m dismissive right away, “of course we will, we’re only human.”

Her smile fades a little. I wasn’t trying to be a downer, just a realist. Arguing doesn’t make us bad, I don’t like to be naive.

“Maybe not though,” she protests. “We’re not going to live together or have kids together, we won’t be combining our finances or dealing with extended family drama, if you take away all that stuff what is there to fight about? Maybe we’ll just be lovebirds forever.” She’s so sincere.

I stare at her a little too long, with a sideways smirk on my face. This babe of mine. This lovebird. I’m programmed to rationalize with her, to tell her why she’s wrong for facts’ sake. To hold firmly to reality in the face of her romantic ideas. To give her stats and sociology findings to show we too will do what all couples do and hurt each other, eventually.

But I can’t. I can see in her eyes that she believes it and she looks so sure. So calm and so sure that we’ll be good, that we’ll be spared this reality. I love it. I love this vision of the future where everything is sweet, I don’t care if it’s delusional. For once in my fucking life I bite my tongue.

“That’s true,” I smile at her and pull her closer so I can kiss her face. “Lovebirds forever.”