After I turn off the light and curl up next to my husband, I think about our beginning.
I think about how, over a decade ago, having him beside me in bed felt so *new*.
I felt like we were the only two people in the world.
With the passing of time our love has grown.
Some parts will always feel new and others feel deeply connected to our past, our ongoing history.
In the quiet of the night feelings of being loved and in love linger around me.
In these quiet moments I think about lovers around the world, young and old, sleeping close to each other in rooms so different from my own. Different ages. Different settings. Different stories. Different lives.
Do they feel as if they are the only two people in the world too?
