I Wanted Another Ordinary Day

I was waiting outside a shop when she came back out smiling.

She had only gone in quickly to buy something. I had stayed outside, and now she was walking towards me again. It was such a small part of the day. Yet I remember how happy I was to see her, and how little explanation that happiness needed. I liked being there. I liked being the person waiting for her.

When I think about the time we spent together, that moment keeps returning. There were other things I could describe more easily as romantic. But I find myself remembering a shop, a short wait, and the smile of the woman coming back towards me.

I wanted more time with her. And increasingly, what I wanted that time to contain was ordinary life.

The moments I kept returning to

We walked together and held hands. After a walk, we sat in the sun near the water, and I loved listening to her. We had dinner together one evening. We sat on a bench. Another time, she wanted to go out for a little while in the car. These are simple things to list, but each one holds something for me that the description barely reaches.

I remember the pleasure of having her beside me. Hearing what she wanted to say. Looking at her while she spoke. Being interested in where a conversation would go because I was interested in the person having it with me. I could have stayed there longer without needing us to find something more exciting to do.

There was an afternoon when we woke up beside each other and stayed lying there for a while before getting up. I remember opening my eyes and being happy that she was there. It is one of the moments I return to most readily. For a little while, I could simply enjoy being close to her.

I have written before about the love I want to give and receive. During these days, some of those wishes became very particular. I wanted to hear her voice again. To have another meal with her. To go somewhere together, even if going there was quite unremarkable. I wanted another day in which I could reach for her hand.

There is still a great deal we do not know about each other. I know the difference between a few beautiful days and the life two people discover over time. There are moods, habits and disagreements I have not yet encountered. But the parts I have seen make me want to keep learning. I am glad there is still more to discover.

If these days became familiar

Thinking about more ordinary days brings me to something that matters deeply to me. I want to keep noticing the person I love when being together becomes familiar. I want to look at her and still be interested in how she is, what has occupied her thoughts, what she is pleased about, and what she would like me to understand.

I do not expect every day to feel like the beginning. I would like the ease that can come with knowing someone well. But I hope that knowledge would give me more ways to appreciate her. More things I understand about her humour. More reasons to recognise the effort behind something she does. More chances to notice what has changed.

If I told her yesterday that she mattered to me, I would still want her to feel it today. There would be days when that came through words, and days when it came through something practical. Asking about something and making time for the answer. Remembering what I had offered to do and doing it. Leaving her with one less thing to think about, if that was the help she wanted.

I would want that care to remain recognisable when we disagreed, too. I might be hurt or need time to think. I might discover that I had misunderstood her, or that I owed her an apology. I would want to return to the conversation with a willingness to understand. The person I was upset with would still be someone I loved.

These are intentions I would have to live, day after day. I cannot point to a shared history we have not yet had. What I can say is that imagining more time with her makes me think about the attention I want to bring to it. I would like her to know that I am glad she is there, even on a day when we have very little to report.

A little more time before leaving

Before she left, we sat on a bench away from the other people waiting for the bus. She had wanted a little time with me on our own. I was moved by that. I wanted more time with her, and there we were, finding a little of it together before the journey began.

I knew I would miss her. Even so, knowing that a goodbye is coming does not make the moment easy when it arrives. I wanted to hold her a little longer. I wanted another chance to look at her face. There was so much happiness in the days behind us, and I was already feeling the absence of the next one.

She was going home. I could want her beside me and also want her to be where she wanted to be. My sadness did not change that. The life she was returning to mattered, and caring about her included respecting it.

I have spent a long time thinking about what makes somewhere feel like home. Being beside her gave that question another meaning for me. I felt warmth and closeness. I felt happy to stay where I was. After she left, I missed that feeling as well as the things we had done together.

What travelled with her

I gave her a bracelet I had always worn. Later, she sent me a photograph of it on her wrist. Seeing it there touched me. Something so familiar to me was now with her, somewhere I could no longer simply reach out and take her hand.

It was her bracelet now. I had given it to her, and I liked knowing it belonged to her. The meaning it carried for me could travel with it without making it something she owed me.

Then she shared photographs of herself with the roses I had given her. I had not known she had taken them. There was something lovely about discovering that small part of our time together afterwards. A moment I remembered had also been photographed, and now she was sharing those pictures with me.

The distance was still there. I still wanted to be beside her. But there was pleasure in receiving something I had not expected, in finding another detail of those days that I could keep. Our time together was still giving me reasons to smile after we had said goodbye.

I do not know exactly how the days ahead will unfold. I hope we have many more to share. I hope there will be familiar places, conversations that wander, meals we barely remember afterwards, and little moments that stay with us for reasons we only understand later.

When I think about that hope, I come back to the shop. She was walking towards me, smiling, and I was happy to be there waiting. I wanted another ordinary day with her. I still do. And if we have those days, I want to keep seeing the woman who made me want them.