So on Saturday these two finally get it all together. It's been awesome to read all about the development of their relationship, from both sides, and to have small little conversations with each of them telling me all about how much they feel for the other.
It's reminiscent of a time when I was the same, I was wanting and waiting and all 'hurry up already!' about things.
In a weird way, I miss those days. Believe me, that's something I never ever thought I'd say - as February drew closer my life reached this terrible stage where all I could do was go to work every day at ABSA, dealing with customers trying to draw money they didn't have, coming home at a time when my parents were so opposed to me coming to the UK and I would sit in the living room gloom of their feelings about my leaving; life was depressing and the days passed leadenly. So to hear myself say that I miss missing and being missed, is surprising.
But there's a lot to be said for those heady days of long-distance love - the times when Ian and I would only get to spend two weeks at a time with each other. So when I look at him now and he looks at me, and we both know that the other was there yesterday, is here now, and will be there in the morning, a little bit of the rush has gone.
It's been replaced with something solid, something long-term that reveals itself when I cook dinner for the both of us, when he calls and asks me to pick up milk, when his eyes meet mine and he can look away without a smile because he can smile at me the next time he looks at me, in two weeks we will still be in the same space to make eye contact again.
Sad in a way, great in another. This is the trade-off you make when you move in with the one you love. You run the risk of taking each phone call for granted, because what's the point when you're going to speak to each other at home anyway. You don't share the small interesting events with the other because hey - he was there when it happened.
But you do get to kiss him any time you want to.
This is a 
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