The Door Was Already There

Her voice makes the butterflies in my stomach start to dance.

It's ridiculous.

She'll call me "baby," and my heart immediately drops into my stomach.

She'll say, "My beautiful, beautiful Katelyn," and I absolutely fucking melt.

I don't care how old I am. I don't care how much life I've lived. I don't care how many cardiac arrests I've survived or how many bones I've broken. She still turns me into a puddle.

God, I love her.

When all of this first started unfolding, she kept telling me that this was probably just the honeymoon phase. That eventually we'd settle down and those overwhelming feelings would fade.

I don't think she's right.

Not because I believe infatuation lasts forever. But because I don't think this is infatuation.

We've known each other for years. We've cared about each other for years. We've shown up for each other through some incredibly difficult chapters of our lives.

She lived with me. We've laughed together. Cried together. Confided in one another. Somewhere along the way, love quietly took up residence.

Neither of us noticed.

Or maybe neither of us was ready to notice.

Back then, I certainly wasn't.

I was drinking too much. Running from myself. Trying to survive rather than actually live. I wouldn't have been capable of giving her the relationship she deserved because I couldn't even give myself one.

The timing wasn't wrong because we didn't love each other. The timing was wrong because I wasn't ready.

Then life happened.

Cardiac arrests.

Trauma.

A motorcycle accident that nearly killed me.

Months of learning how to walk, think, and live again.

Somewhere in all of that, my priorities changed. The walls I'd spent decades building around my heart started coming down.

And when they finally did, I realized something: We didn't open a door hoping to create love. We opened a door and discovered love had been patiently waiting for us all along.

Now, when we talk on the phone, her voice seems to have a direct line to my soul. Her laugh has somehow learned the combination to every lock I ever placed around my heart. She doesn't have to convince me to trust her. My soul already does.

Maybe that's what love really is.

Not fireworks. Not obsession. Not even butterflies.

Those things are wonderful. But maybe real love is recognition. Maybe it's that quiet moment when two people stop pretending they don't already know where home is.

This isn't a honeymoon phase. This isn't infatuation. This is love.

This is me being head over heels in absolute love, and I don't believe it's going to fade. I think it's going to deepen.

It already has.

I don't know where this road takes us. I don't know what tomorrow looks like. And for once, I don't feel the need to know.

Because after spending so much of my life trying to protect my heart, I finally understand something: The greatest risk wasn't letting someone in. The greatest risk was never opening the door at all.