Next week, it will be three years since I’ve moved here.

Next month, it will be two years since I’ve met you.

For all of the struggles, all of the battles, it’s the peace of having found my place, our place, that I feel most of all.

You never know when you will find it, this place, this feeling. I had no idea this would be it. Step by step, elements fitting in together, a sense of belonging slowly developing.

The snow, the rain, the mountains – unsettling at first, slowly becoming familiar features. Exotic moments turned rituals, rough words finally understood.

It’s taken a while to get there, to feel that way. Every winter ride, every summer night – they’ve helped build it. And maybe it’s this time that gives it its certainty, maybe it’s the time spent exploring, spent searching, that makes home, home.

When you had no idea where you would land, no idea what would be next, but the days dug roots for you anyway.

It’s taken a while. In fact, it’s taken three years. Thousand days.