You said that first. It's on your neck.
You have been writing this down the whole time.
I worked today so we did Christmas Night. — that's all you said about it. Our relationship is officially a teenager. We have a way of being pregnant around our anniversary. Where it started, how it's going, about a cat.
Worked Christmas, so you did Christmas Night. Three thrift stores before the gold dress. They had you down twice at the polls and you stood there until somebody called the state.
You always tell the hard part. You always end on the part where you got there.
Getting you eighteen years ago was the best thing that ever happened to me.
You wrote that sentence about Rory. I'm giving it back.
Yellow suits you. It always did. Sunflowers and gardenias.
Ten thousand years of happiness.
You wished that on Rory. I'm wishing it on you.
Eight years ago you wrote: I’m itching to get to know you better Gheric. Happy seven!!!!!
9,460,800 minutes.
At ten you wrote 5,256,000 minutes that my life has never been the same. It still hasn’t.
Happy fifteen!!!!!
This is only for you. Change anything, cut anything, or throw the whole thing out — no reason needed. Nothing goes anywhere unless you say so.