Did she know what was to come?

I doubt it; fate is never loudly announced.

At least a year, maybe more,

And her lips are still exhausted from the smiles.

The smiles and the kisses, the laughter.

She’s tired from his fingers,

but she’s not tired of them.

She’ll never tire of his smile, of his face, of his love.

She does not like feet or killing,

but he tickles her feet

and kills her with his words.

There are times when she doesn’t know what she hates.

She says she hates him,

of course it’s not true.

It’s impossible to hate the man

who makes her heart beat so.

Hating him would be like hating water,

it would be like cursing the stars that shine overhead,

or blaspheming the God that brought her here.

Odium has lost its meaning.

After everything they’ve gone through,

he’s not really her boyfriend.

They are not juvenile at all, because she loves him

and he loves her.

And that is not equivalent to a high school romance.

Because all judgment has been passed, all qualms have been settled.

Everything has slipped away, their fears have been shed

to allow them unequivocal peace.

They note it every day, but on this day,

commemoration.

Words, notes, kisses, poems.

“Happy anniversary,” she says, and he says it too.

For they love, truly.