All begins...

Who can say when does a story really start? From what I feel, all my stories have some sort of prelude in a previous story and all characters come from a different story, sometimes even a different wolrd.
This one though, starts with me landing at Gatwick Airport with a huge luggage - for which I must say, I have paid a luggage excess so high, that I could have probably just bought myself some new stuff, but I hold on to my things (sometimes too much).
Whilst my boyfriend was back from his work - currently in Maastricht - I was in the car of his mom with her, of course driving all the way to my new home, in sunny Leighton Buzzard. Sometimes I feel like our relationship is like some sort of action in a spy movie, the kind, that has actors in it all the time saying something like: "Come and meet me in the UK this afternoon" and the following weekend "Let's meet in Lisbon". Not if we haven't had our challenges already, him being British and me Hungarian...but this has been "spiced" with the distances that constantly stand between us as well.
Anyways, at the beginning of this year we have decided to move in together...somewhere, because we wanted to spend more time with each other. There were those moments when everything seemed so natural and nice. I wanted to have that everyday, the feeling that he is around.
UK seemed like the most reasonable decision, although if it had been up to me, I would just probably went for Transylvania - cause it tastes mostly like home...mmm...
But there I was with big luggages in front of Simon's house and suddenly felt that the whole world is a stranger. I guess this is how you feel like when you start something.
We spent an evening looking at each other every now and again, trying to get used to the fact that we will share our days from now on...our days and everything else.
There's nothing about this in the Happily-ever-after-stories, but these situations are the ones which remind you that you are just ordinary human beings. Ordinary and on the same hand...unique. And just there, in moments of which you never thought of...you get by and you do it well. Is it innate? Is it instinct? Is it the labour of hard work? I think it's just the naked feeling of love that inspires you, like an invisible hand that take yours as you are trying to spell your first letters.