Our relationship felt like one long vacation. It was an escape from reality. I loved it. For a while, at least. In the beginning, you showered me with gifts and I accepted them without question. The largest one you gave me was that diamond bracelet. It was our one month anniversary and you took me out to dinner. You got down on one knee and nearly made me faint.
"What are you doing?" I hissed, trying to pull you up off the floor.
You weren't having any of it. People were starting to stair. That's when you pulled out the box.
"Lark," you began, "I've had you for one month and it has been the happiest of my life. You make me laugh and you make me cry, but most of all you make me hopeful; hopeful for the future and what we might have."
You opened that damned box and took my breath away. And not because I was relieved but because that piece of love you were giving me was so breathtaking. I could barely hear the people around us clapping when you put it on my wrist. You were overwhelming; controlling all my senses. I knew I loved you unconditionally.
