The day I met him was not a perfect day. The sun didn’t shine brighter on that morning, time didn’t slow down the first time I gazed into his eyes, and it wasn’t the “love at first sight” thing that you hear about in all the films. If I used any of those to describe that cool day in June, then I would be lying.
The first time I met him I was lost. I had no rhyme or reason to anything I was doing, with the exception of wanting to escape the person I had become. When I met him I didn’t think he was the one, in fact I could have never have predicted that he’d become as important to me as he has done. I just thought he was another guy, and that the most important thing was to keep my mind-set on escaping to Europe. Then he kissed me.
Out of all the things I had expected of him, this hadn’t been one of them. It had made my heart beat faster, my stomach knot, and it made me feel alive. From that moment on every glance I stole and every moment with him I enjoyed. I wanted him. It felt so good to sleep beside him.
After a week of this it became obvious that being with him had won over the option of homelessly travelling Europe in search of a place to call home. I couldn’t just leave him on his own – I already cared for him. Maybe too much for the short time I had known him.
So it became that I changed my plans, I headed back home. We launched a plan of attack so that we could survive in London. Although it wasn’t easy, we survived. We got jobs, got friends, got lives. We’d spend nights out drinking and talking. Word for word I could still tell you what he said in those cherished moments. In those midnight promises, those whispered truths that escaped our mouths in the moonlight. Somehow I was scared that the daylight would strip away the meaning of the words – like they we only to be spoken in the darkness.
Then it happened. Mexico.
After Vegas, I didn’t think I would ever find a place that felt like home again. I was scared that I would roam from place to place, never really belonging, never staying long enough to learn names and learn locals. But when I saw the city, when I met my mother in law… when I lay in his bed for the first time – I wasn’t scared anymore. I felt at peace. I was home.
I met his family, I met his friends, and I met his past.
If I had to define a time that I fell in love with him it would have been on my last Saturday in Mexico. When I looked across the room at him and he grinned back at me. When he knew where to find me when I was upset. That was when I fell in love. That was when I realised that the guy that I had met by chance in Kent was the man I wanted to be with. It was when I realised when he was the man I wanted to be the uncle to my nephews, the father to my unborn children, and my closest friend for the rest of my life.
When we said goodbye at the airport I didn’t think my heart would survive. I wanted to believe I would see him again, but my past experience wouldn’t let me go. But then he told me that he loved me, and I felt every bit of doubt melt away. I knew I would see him again.
I didn’t realised how strong my feelings were for him until I was at a family party. “I know you must like this guy because from the moment you started talking about him, you haven’t stopped smiling.” The words of my uncle had haunted me. Had he been there I would have been showing him off… wanting to shout to my family “look at this guy, he’s amazing, and he’s my boyfriend.”
Looking back on this, it is strange to think how the Mexican on the farm in Kent had become one of the most important people in my life. How he had become the man I wanted to spend my life with and have children with. Previously, I had told him that there was no place I wouldn’t go just to be with him, that I would go to any country, for any length of time, just to be near him. Just so that I can lie in his arms and feel him fall asleep and to care for him and protect him because he’s ‘mi amor’. I will stand by this statement, like I will stand beside him, forever.
