The Way I Love You

Recently, my wife and I began a couple’s love journal titled Why I Love You—a love story, in our own words.


Seven years had passed since we had last seen one another, and then, there she was again. A garland of plastic Hawaiian flowers adorned her neck as she sat on the back steps at Mary’s parents’ home in Keysville, Virginia. The occasion which brought us together again was a mutual friend’s engagement party: Becky Follin, soon to be Becky Liddell. Butterflies fluttered in my future wife’s stomach, according to her journal response, upon seeing me. I never knew this detail, until now.

The Last Leaf

The portly woman had her own path to be exact, worn white into the grass that led to her car. After this curiosity, I reached into my coat pocket and retrieved a folded copy of “The Last Leaf,” by O. Henry that I had printed prior to my departure from Charlottesville earlier in the day. “Don’t laugh at me,” I said to my then-girlfriend. “I’m going to read you a short story.”