I listen to the rain, pitter-patter. I drink the eggnog. I see the stockings just bought for our very first Christmas. I sit by the lighted tree with those handmade ornaments and all the memories we have already made. Our first dog jumps into the chair with me, to squeeze in beside me.
And I think of moments long-gone. “Oh, it’s only a year ago,” I think to myself. But a year ago? That is long-gone. I can never get it back. I can never live it again. That’s what makes time sweet. That’s what makes it painful.
Before you proposed, you asked me where I wanted it to happen. And when I was a girl, I had dreamed of it taking place in the wide expanse of the desert. But the older I got, and the more I knew you—the sooner my mind changed.
I didn’t want to make more memories at a home where I grew up. I wanted to make a permanent memory somewhere that you loved, somewhere that meant something to you. I wanted to go to your favorite place, a childhood adventure, a spot where I could make an imprint that would start our history together. Continue reading “The First Imprint | 12.23.14”