And so it begins. His long work days, a three hour time difference, figuring out a good time to talk in the evenings, booking further, longer, flights.
I can do this.
We've been doing this for the past year and we can do it for however longer.
We can plan a wedding and figure out how we're going to get our cars out there, and what kind of couch we want, and how we'll merge our finances, over the phone.
All of it.
All of our relationship spoken, our days shared over the airwaves. Broken up by beautiful long weekends together once or twice a month. Hours and hours of exchanges, over-my-minutes-conversations. I would presume that sometimes we even talk to each other more than two people sitting in the same room.
We are good telephone people, and thank goodness for that.
One day we wont have to be so good at talking on the phone. One day he will already know what I've been up to that day or that week. He will live it beside me, or he will hear about it at our dinner table, or while we go for a walk around the neighborhood, or before we go to bed at night.
My hope is that we always talk as much as we do now. That I still hear about what he ate for lunch that day. That we still share the tiny, insignificant, random, "but I'm still gonna tell you about it because I just don't want to hang up the phone yet" details that make up our days.