Seven years ago, I bought a ticket to see Rasputina.
Seven years ago, to this very day, I nervously waited in line outside Dante’s behind a beautiful Norse goddess with a strange velvet black-and-red checkboard bag.
Seven years ago, a strange sequence of events involving ex-es and a game of pool occurred that can best, though inaccurately, be summed up by “her wingman (wingwoman?) got us talking to each other.”
Seven years ago, as she left, I asked her for her phone number. And almost didn’t get it. Although it was disconnected long ago, it is still in my wallet.
Seven years ago, two people who had recently gone through messy breakups found each other and something clicked.
And five years ago, to this very day, I got a different sort of ticket: a marriage license. We quietly got married and ran off to the coast for a few days.
Since then, there has been a whole world of change — from a new house to a new cat to a new business to new clothing and hairstyles and everything in between. There has been love and loss, happiness and sadness, but that magic — that original click — is still there.