Happy anniversary, my love.
We met one year ago yesterday, and haven't left each other's side since (metaphorically, of course).
Some say that they believe in "love at first sight." Well, I don't. But, because of first-hand experience, I do believe in "love at first night," which is what you like to say about "The Night" that we met.
August 2, 2008
We, along with our friends, spent all night talking, laughing, singing songs on the guitar, and many more things that I'd type about but that wouldn't make sense (like you, not me, getting hit on by bums in Santa Monica and a bloody and mutinous TP war, which ended up with rolls in the refrigerator of your apartment days later - and you guys had thought that buying in bulk was a good idea, little did you know...)
By the time dawn had broken and you had put me to bed in your room, tenderly placing a folded t-shirt over my eyes to block the sunlight and closing the door against the snores of our many fellow and opposing TP warriors, who'd gone to sleep hours before we did, just for you to go into the kitchen and make me breakfast, I was asking myself if you could possibly, possibly be real. Two days later, after you'd fixed the clogged kitchen sink that Mary-Elizabeth poured WAY too much spaghetti down, you whispered to me on my couch that you loved me, as your eyes burned into mine. I tried to avoid making any reply, but you didn't let me off of the hook until I turned around and looked inside and realized that, oh crap, I loved you too. (excuse my crassness, but that's verbatim what I'd thought in the moment...) I'd believed that people like you didn't exist, not in this century, not anywhere. And now I know that they are by no means common, but I also know that I've somehow stumbled onto one and I'm never looking back.
So, partner in crime, I love you.
Here's to a gazillion more years together.
Today's whiteboard quote:
"It never occurs to me that there are things I can't do."