But instead

I would love to wake up with our arms tangled together every morning. To feel his stubble graze across my cheek as he kissed me awake. To have the first hoarse words out of my mouth each morning be ‘I love you.’ To pause for just a few moments and stare into his eyes and admire his face in the daylight. To get up together. To come out of the shower and feel his arms wrap a towel around me and dry my hair. To stand next to him at the mirror as we both shave and get ready for the day. To listen to him gurgle his mouthwash. To breathe in the smell of his deodorant.

I would love to eat breakfast together. To watch him enjoy the meal I cooked for us--even if it was burned or undercooked. To frown at him sternly when he fed our dog from the table. To have him pour me orange juice while I read the Wall Street Journal before work. To wonder to myself how I ever got to be so lucky while he cleaned up the dishes.

I would love to be at work and look down from my computer monitor to see a picture of the two of us together. In front of the Pyramids or the Eiffel Tower or on the Great Wall. A goofy smile on my face and his arms around me. To get back to work but never stopping my daydreams about him. To have him call me to ask what we should have for dinner and what movie we should see. To look forward to holding him while I’m driving home at night.

I would love to look at him sitting at ‘our’ table through the restaurant window. To watch him smile as he looks up and sees me finally arrive; slowly standing to greet me with a gentle kiss. To not care what other people think, in fact, to notice no one but him. To have him already order, because he knows exactly what I’d like. To talk about our days, but then just to sit together, watching each other in silence as we press our feet together under the table.

I would love to hold hands as we walked back to the car. To breathe in the smell of his cologne. Smiling as he laughed at my jokes. To have him open my door and then gently close it behind me. To fight together over what radio station to listen to and then content myself that even though I don’t get to listen to what I want, I get to listen to him sing softly along to what he loves.

I would love to sit next to him at the movie theater. Shoulders and legs pressed together as we held hands tightly. Never completely getting into the movie because I can’t stop looking over at him to see him laughing or smiling and then looking back at me with an expression on his face as if to ask, “what?” To reach into the popcorn bag at the same time and bump hands. To taste his Chapstick on the straw of the drink we share.

I would love going home together. One hand on the wheel and one around him. To feel his head lay against my shoulder as he nodded off. To walk into our house, into the home we had built together. To walk upstairs into our bedroom and stand there together. A long hug turning into a slow dance, hands at each other’s waists.

I would love to feel his strong arms holding me, my head nestled into his chest so that I could hear his heart beating. To hear him whisper loving words into my ear and gently kiss my forehead. To feel our legs together as they intertwine. To watch his eyes close and his mouth softly open as he falls asleep. To feel safe and secure and warm. And in love.

I want that more than anything.

But instead of that, I hope one day I might be able to say as Benjamin Landart did on June 23, 1938: "The greatest decision I ever made in my life was to give up something I dearly loved to the God I loved even more. He has never forgotten me for it." (Thomas Monson, BYU Devotional, March 1997)