The 21st

Twenty years, and we still don't greet each other happy anniversary not because we forget, though we don't really make an effort to remember, but because even if we want to, we don't know when exactly we started this journey together.

Twenty years ago, you had one extra tooth just above your incisor and canine. Your two upper front teeth had a gap that could fit a coin. And you barely opened your mouth to smile. Monster teeth, I called you.

Now, your smile's perfect. I sometimes forget it is, and how hideous it used to be. It's frightening to realize how much you have changed but haven't at the same time.
You bored me. Your idea of hanging out is drinking beer in silence. Quiet, but my frustration's so loud in my head I had had to say, you bore me. You replied, my topics are uninteresting. 

Over the years, you have learned to develop opinions on politics and people. We have even come up with inside jokes that weren't really funny, but would make us both burst to laughter. Though sometimes your argument seemed devoid of logic, you're now able to articulate ideas that challenge mine. It's irritating how sometimes they make sense.

Your spontaneity used to frustrate me. During travels, you like to explore. I just want to go by what I know, since I don't want to waste time. You said, that's what adventures are all about. I let you win.

You have forced me to see the things that I shouldn't like about myself. It's strange because all romance stories talk about how one is supposed to make the other feel better or be a better version of themselves. Blech.

So, to at least have a mark on my calendar each year, and a reason to make you buy me coffee, I texted, "It could be the 21st of Jan!" You replied, "why?", after fifteen minutes.

Well, it was a Saturday twenty years ago, and that's when we first kissed and then some...

You replied back, hmmf.