My Obession with The Notebook

My "obsession" with Nicholas Sparks' "The Notebook" began about 6 years ago. Hubbs and I were "dating," and I was reading the book the summer we met. I can't even begin to describe the range of emotions I went through upon finishing that glorious novel. I remember sitting in Hubbs' living room crying for everything I was worth. And I didn't even care that he was watching me in awe. I was bold for making myself so vulnerable. I just sat and cried. He, never uttering a word, waited patiently for me to regain my composure and just held me in his arms. We were 20 years old. Flash forward about two years. I will spare you the details that encompasses those years, as they are filled with heartache and joy and I have just finished reading NS's "The Choice." I have already cried quietly to myself, like I do after reading every novel of his, and recounting those memories will only drudge up even more tears. So many that I might short out the keyboard. So, another day I will regale you with the story of us. Ahem. Like I was saying, flash forward two years and the movie, "The Notebook," came out. I was engaged to someone new, who was quite a bit older. I professed many times that I HAD to see this movie. Sitting at a bar in my college town, I told X the story of The Notebook. As he sat there on a bar stool sipping his beer, he didn't get it. He just didn't get it. In the time it took me to explain it to him, he'd already dismissed it. Written it off as just another chick flick. I can still picture us sitting there in that bar surrounded by college kids, noisy and loud, me explaining and he with that look on his face. You know. The one that says, you silly girl. Flash forward about 3 months later. This movie would not leave me alone. It was almost as if I was drawn to it. By then, it was on DVD and I had dumped X. Hubbs resumed his rightful place beside me, as we professed our love for each other. We went right out to Blockbuster and rented it. Came home snuggled on the couch, settling in to watch it. As soon as it was over, I bawled like a baby (still do), and just like that night in his living room he wrapped his arms around me and waited patiently for me regain my thoughts. He was my Noah. I was his Allie. It was then that I revealed to him that that summer in his living room when he held me at my most vulnerable moment, I was reading that same book. And you know what? He got it. He understood. I knew then that he was it. And really, it wasn't that he got some movie. He got me. He got that I knew things happen for a reason. I made him a believer that night. That novel, that movie brought us together and took us apart. And in the end, brought us back together again. For my birthday that year, my parents bought me my own copy of the movie, quite possibly the best present ever. Since then, I can't even tell you how many times I have watched this move. Our movie. Every time I watch it I cry. For the longest time I wouldn't watch it with anyone other than Hubbs and only Hubbs. I didn't want to ruin it. Every so often (2 or 3 months), we make time to sit down and watch our movie. No one else. Just us. It gets better every time we watch it.