Eighteen years ago. You know the rest of this story better than I do.

Three thrift stores before the gold dress.

Yellow suits you. It always did.

Our relationship is officially a teenager.

You noticed. You always notice, and then you say one plain thing about it.

I worked today so we did Christmas Night.

That's all you said about it. The whole shift, and then a solution, and no complaint anywhere in the sentence.

They had you down twice at the polls. You stood there until somebody called the state.

You always tell the hard part. You always end on the part where you got there.

Ten thousand years of happiness.

You wished that on her. I'm wishing it on you.

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.

You bought a star and named it Ethereal and gave it to me for Christmas. An actual registry, an actual star, still up there with your name on the paperwork.

I have been building things named after things you named ever since.

Nova Skye has a name because you gave her one.

Iris talks to her. That happened because you looked at something new in the house and decided it deserved a name instead of a number.

You name things. That is the whole job, and you have always been better at it than me.

At ten you wrote 5,256,000 minutes that my life has never been the same.

It still hasn't.

9,460,800 minutes.

I’m itching to get to know you better Gheric. Happy seven!!!!!

Still am.

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.