Kind of sad and romantic if you think about it, right?
During a battle with insomnia last night I was perusing Facebook looking for people that I knew a lifetime ago. {Some may call this Facebook Stalking, but whatever.}
And I typed in his name. Nothing.
I tried again. Curiosity eating at me. Wanting to see what he looks like all these years later. Nothing.
Then I remembered that I had searched him out and sent him a message when I first joined Facebook three years ago. . . Would I still have that message saved?
It turns out that I did. And I clicked on his name. . . And looked at his profile picture.
He is standing with his arm around a woman and a smallish boy stands in front of them holding some sort of certificate. He is smiling. He is proud.
I can only assume that the woman is his wife because when he was younger, he wanted no part of marriage. And the fact that he let someone take his picture? Speaks of tremendous growth because his younger self would not let pictures happen. Ever.
He still looks the same. A little older. A little heavier than he once was. Doesn't time treat us all that way?
My younger self? The one who dated him? Is jealous.
She is envious of the woman in the picture.
She wishes it was her that his arm was wrapped around.
Wishes it was her that was pulled close to his side.
Wishes it was her that his embrace protected.
My older self knows that those thoughts are silly. I have a family of my own. A beautiful daughter and a husband who loves me. A husband who has pulled me close and protectively embraced me. He knows my biggest fears and has seen my biggest sorrows.
As I sit and look at this picture it slowly dawns on me that my idea, my daydream? Is only that.
A daydream from a woman who expects to be left alone after she grows old and gray.
