The Air He Breathes

I fell in love with the idea of him first. I fell in love with the idea of a man who could someday make me laugh, smile, and cry all at once. I fell in love with the idea of him loving me for my brokenness, for my pained heart. I fell in love with the idea of his kisses, his touch, his warmth.

And then, one chilly morning, I walked onto my front porch with a steaming coffee mug in my hand. He was lying in the snow-covered grass, making snow angels and looking up at the clouds with Emma beside him. They fought all the time, but in the silliest of ways. That morning, they were arguing about what animal they saw. Tristan saw a giraffe cloud, while Emma swore it was a penguin, so after a while, he pretended to see the penguin too.

Emma’s lips spread into a grin, and the two grew silent as they moved their legs and arms to perfect their snow angels.

It was in that silence that I knew. I loved him. I loved him so, so much. It wasn’t a dream anymore, nor was it the simple idea of loving him.

It was real.

It was true.

He was love.

He made me smile. He made me happy. He made me laugh in a world that was determined to make me cry.

Tears formed in my eyes, and I tried to understand how—how could it be that I was allowed to love such a man who also loved me?

It was such a special feeling to love and be loved in return. To find a man who not only loved you, but cherished the best part of you—your baby girl. I was blessed more than words could ever say.

Emma and I loved Tristan completely, and he loved us the same. Maybe he loved our scars the most. Maybe the truest form of love grew from the deepest kinds of pain.

It was funny how everything came to be. We first lied to one another, using each other to hold on to the past, and then we accidentally fell in love.

I knew I had to tell him about the accident. I knew I had to let him know, but I couldn’t that morning. That morning, I needed him to know one thing and one thing only.

The two stood up from the grass. Emma hurried into the house for breakfast, and I stayed on the porch, leaning against the railing with a smile that was crafted just for Tristan. His hands were stuffed into his jeans, and he had a few grass clippings clinging to his shirt and his damp hair. I was certain Emma had thrown the grass at him. As his foot hit the top step, he kept smiling my way and walked past me to enter the house.

“I love you,” I said.

He turned to me and smiled even wider.

Because he already knew.