My lubz, as I affectionately call him, moved to Houston at the end of 2012. The beginning of 2013 I was like “bro you have no friends and we are friends so come hang out” and this began our frequent hang out sessions.

Funny story after listening to him vent about his, at the time, ending marriage I bluntly told him “bro you’re the type of dude I’d never date.” (Just joking I wasn’t such a heavy “bro” user back then.)

We were strangers that turned into true friends. So when people would ask about the purity of our friendship and accuse us of sleeping together it hurt. It made me cry. It made me cry because our friendship was something so special to both of us.

I’m going to speak for him because we are so much alike. I helped him heal. He helped me heal. We bonded. We healed over hockey, our love of the natural world and birding, over love for photography and his hidden artistic talents. Our strained relationship with family and how we wanted them to be better. We bonded over half frozen, half on the rocks margaritas and creamy jalapeño ranch dip (back in our unhealthy days). We even got our first matching tattoos together on a whim after a Sunday funday and darts.

The first time he told me he had feelings for me I dismissed him and said we were just friends. Now look at us. We can’t even decide the moment of when “being together” started for us. Life just happened and shifted and melted into what we are now. Partners. Parents raising this little dude who, if you ask me, got super lucky with his no nonsense type care takers.

Lubz has been out of town a ton. I want to say he’s been home for a month straight at some point, but I’m just not sure. Swear it’s happened. I just feel like we are always saying we miss each other. This is me publicly whining.

Our time together is special. Our time apart is special. It really makes us realize how important they way we live is. Reaffirms our choices.

Confession, I literally lucked up. He lucked up. Take us as we are.