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This is Us.

This is us; I’m the taller one, on the left. We’re having an argument, because we want to get married. Her mother doesn’t approve. We bought rings already; she insisted on buying me one, too.

This is us; out at a bar, pretending the proposal went well.

This is us; slightly tipsy, filling out a marriage certificate. The clerk is looking at us like we’re dirt on his shoe.

This is us; our apartment has beautiful tacky wallpaper and a giant king sized mattress. And that’s it.

This is us; alone on Christmas Eve, because her parents never want to see us again.

This is us; alone on New Year’s Eve because our friends have disowned us

This is us; we don’t care anyway. We drink champagne by ourselves and damn well enjoy it. because we love each other. And, f***, that’s all that matters.

This is us; our application for adoption has been denied. Again.

This is us; not together on my birthday, because she’s helping the neighbours spring clean and I can’t because of my bad knee.

This is us; together on her birthday, with Mrs. Next-door’s husband. She couldn’t make it because she’s working.

This is us; I’m the taller one, on the right. We’re having an argument, because she wants to get married. To our next door neighbour.

This is me; ten years after that giggly night in the marriage registration office. I have disgusting campy wallpaper and a too-big mattress. Everything else is in boxes.



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