Romance?

E. writes:
Some people just aren’t meant to be together.  And some people are.

I had a very contented life.  And then I found painting. 

I’ve never been a half-way person. If I’m in, I’m in with all my thought, study-power, drive and effort. And so painting contorted my life, as just described.  I’d get up early and paint for two hours before I went to work.  I took workshops and classes.  My paintings were getting much better but they weren’t feeding my soul.

Then one day in my gallery, I heard that this amazing out-of-town painter was going to give a workshop where I lived. “I want what he has!” I said with pure enthusiasm while pointing to his work. The price of the workshop was high for me based on my sales, but I rationalized that I’d never get anywhere just wishing to be better.

I’m from a small state, and it turned out that the workshop teacher was born 60 miles from where I’d been born. He didn’t claim that state as he moved away when he was just a year old. I still noticed that bridge.

The workshop was fantastic. I had a huge breakthrough, and my painting has never been the same.

I attended one or two further workshops at his studio. We became friends, but not close friends.  Then he returned to give another workshop where I lived. He had allowed me to stay at his home for each workshop.  I somewhat reluctantly returned the invitation.  He accepted and stayed at the other end my house.  One morning as we were about to leave for the class, he asked if he could kiss me.  I said yes. It was the most electric kiss one could imagine.  And then I almost accusingly but delightedly said, “Why did you do that?”  “Because I wanted to,” he said and smiled, and then we left for class.

I thought we really connected. After a few visits to see me, he told me in words that I didn’t like that he didn’t see us as a couple. I was mad and hurt.  I told him he was wrong.  He was. We were really good together. My healing from this hurt was slow.

Life has its own timing and ways. Some months (years?) passed, and he wanted to come see me again. I figured I had my guard up and that it would be okay.  I think my guard was asleep in the guardhouse.  Six weeks later he called me early one morning and told me he loved me. Without meaning to be uppity, I told him, “I know” then I told him I loved him, too.

Within a month he began asking me to marry him. I said, “Yes, but not now.” In abductions, police want a “proof of life.”  Now I wanted a proof of love.  It wasn’t going to be easy.  There were some tiffs and a lot of breakups.  Overcoming doubt was difficult for me in this situation.  I’m happy to tell you that through all the trials, my honey and I have grown by light years in mutual understanding.

This is our own Hollywood-style story. You know that most Hollywood stories have a happy ending. Yesterday he presented me with the most gorgeous ring imaginable and asked me to marry him. It was time, and this go-around I said yes.

The ring wasn’t necessary for me because I’d already loved him, even when he thought he didn’t love me. Nevertheless, it is a beautiful symbol of our love and an every-day reminder that dreams really can come true.
E.

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