The green staircase wall within the little house on the corner, which sits neatly between two very large and very climbable Oak trees, is nearly covered in several framed pictures.

Some bulky, some thin, some even sparkled from where a certain strawberry blonde had decided to glitter the frame. They all scale the wall, unevenly placed around each other. Each frame holding a photo, a memory, a special point in time.

If you start at the bottom, you'll find two family photos. One worn with the lines of where it was folded in someone's wallet multiple times, but the image the large, happy family still comes through, all wearing their family reunion shirt. Except for one. ("The hell if I was wearing that thing.")

The other family portrait is posed, poised, perfect; as though from a magazine

("It took them two hours to take that picture," the owner would say with a shake of her head, "I just simply refused to sit still. Why would I want to take a posed picture on the beach and not play? Makes absolutely no sense.")

There are several more family photos of course: sister ones, mother and son ones, large family, embarrassing "Why is that even up there?" ones; all of them just as loved as the next.

As you go further up the stares, a love story of sorts begins. It starts with one simple picture, a selfie of all things, at a local Diner. She wears his varsity jacket, smiling, blushing at the camera as she herself takes the picture. The blonde man across the table from her merely eyes the camera, though a small smile can just be seen.

("Our first date." She says with a sigh. "You smelled so bad."

"It was after my first game of senior year. Of course I smelled."

"You said you took a shower."

"Yeah, I may have lied about that one."

"What?"

"Oh come on, you were sitting in the bleachers waiting for me and I didn't want you sitting there for too long. Ma would've killed me." He looks back at the picture. "Plus I was nervous as hell. I wanted to just, get it over with."

She smiles.)

There are several more of them together like this. Selfies at carnivals, ("You had been right, that view was beautiful."), a date off at the zoo ("I never saw you so disappointed in my life till the day they said they didn't have reindeer at the zoo."), candid photos on the beach, camping trip up the North Mountain ("That was our first time…we climbed the mountain together." He coughs as she blushes.), football games, ("Your last game. I think you cried that game."

"I did not!"

"Oh, please. I cried, your mom cried, I even think Elsa shed a few tears. Pretty sure you did too. Would explain why your eyes were red."

"…I didn't cry." He mumbles), homecoming, prom, graduation ("Now, then I definitely cried.").

The college years were no different, say for a new colored jersey and a bit more appearances by her sister. More dates scale the walls, a collage of after game pictures (minus sophomore year, "ACL tear. We don't like talking about that year."), honor ceremonies.

A moment captured in front of an apartment building, one holding a pair of keys in the air, while the tallest one kisses her cheek. ("First apartment together." He smiles. "It was rundown, it leaked, it creaked, the closet door had to be lifted to open it and shower was just awful. But it was perfect.").

There are several notable photos across the wall: graduation, acceptance into grad school, draft day ("The third most nerve racking day of my life."), graduation from grad school, his first professional game, a tearful kiss in the middle of a field, something sparkling on her hand as she holds it up towards the camera while they are completely surrounded by the team ("That would be the second.").

Then one very special photo, larger than the others, that sits right in the middle of the staircase wall. Foreheads pressed together, hidden beneath her veil, they smile with their eyes closed as they have their own moment. It is simple, beautiful, something that neither even have the words to even describe. They simply hold each other tighter, beaming just as bright as they are in the photo.

Of course, there are others from that special day, scattered through out the house. Most sit neatly in a black album that rests on their living room table, their initials sewn in the front. The edges of the pages have begun to wear from someone looking through them so many times.

From there, their story blossoms into breaking in their new home ("Team mates always wonder why I didn't go big." He shrugs, "I never needed much. I got enough." She blushes under his gaze), more game photos, some vacation pictures, more holiday photos ("Our first Christmas together." She smiles.

"I still don't know why you insist on having that Halloween picture there though."

"I've told you before and I'll tell you again, it's cute, we're cute, and that is why that photo sits there."

"I look ridiculous."

"That was the one time I could get you to dress up. I am keeping it there for reassurance that I didn't dream the whole thing.")

A newspaper's front page article, a large photo of the pair celebrating a Super Bowl victory the best way they knew how; together, in each other's arms, both hiding their faces in the other's shoulder. ("Now I KNOW you cried then."

"I wasn't the only one feisty pants." He says with a nudge.

"It was the Super bowl, you had just won the game and I was just overwhelmed with emotions." She smirks, "Plus I was so incredibly proud of you.")

There is space still on that staircase wall, plenty of room for new moments, new memories. Like the one that is currently sitting on the kitchen table, waiting to be hung: large hands over her small ones as they both hold her swollen belly.

It would only be a four more months before several more would cover the walls: first steps, first trips, first taste of cake and collages of moments of a little one that shares features of them both. (He has her strawberry blonde hair but his chubby cheeks and large nose, "Sorry buddy.")

Slowly the green wall shall be covered; slowly they will continue to make memories and continue the love story of the ages.