Thursday, September 1, 2011

a year.











  Mention of a surprise on a said friday night did nothing but build anticipation for what might come. A surprise tends to monopolize your thoughts to a point of spoil but I have learned to tame this urge. More often than not I try to forget that I know anything. I spent the day last friday musing over details of where my wonderful boyfriend would take me. Outlandish thoughts of a one-day trip somewhere was soon replaced by the idea of a creative dinner that involved some conversation and simply time. Too excited to wait, I got ready nearly two hours before it was time to leave. I put on my favorite dress and big girl shoes and every so often checked to see if my hair or make-up had messed up since my last look.  He arrived and with a short goodbye we were off. South on I-85, we entered the city. Exits passed. Music slipped through the speakers as we exchanged glances of adoration and joy. 
  With the evening beginning well before expected, "time to kill" was in order. Walking through the city lead us past the Tabernacle and on to Woodruff Park. We enjoyed the sweetness of Starbucks coffee and cake pops while being surrounded by a park full of cyclists ready to embark on an excursion. A strange part of town, from what we gathered, was a mix of college students, indie-folk, and the confused individuals that bike to negate the health effects of their nicotine. A reservation for seven thirty seemed far off at six o'clock in Atlanta's end-of-summer heat. 
  We walked for what seemed like miles until I found myself making the decision to be content with where we were. Just being together was what mattered. When the realization that a picnic in shorts and a t-shirt would be just as delightful, my heart found that the heat dissipated and the blisters disappeared. Seven o'clock came and we entered "The French American Brasserie" in Atlanta. Our reservation was moved up and the host showed us the way to the elevator. The evening was spent looking over the city of Atlanta and catching traces of the sunset. We even spotted a hidden "I love you" on the side of an old building.
  Our first course was a cheese plate garnished with sweet spreads to compliment the bread brought to the table. The plate held a bleu cheese that made a frenchman wince. Distracted by a sweet face and laughter, I unfortunately dropped the last sliver of my favorite cheese on the ground. The waiter recited the specials void of a French accent. We ordered salmon and duck for our main courses, quickly passing over the mention of eating rabbit. Candles were lit as we exchanged expressions of what the last year held. Hiccups aside, it was a perfect evening. I have been blessed beyond measure with a wonderful man of God. 

Currently Listening: "Forever" by Ben Harper

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