Happy Anniversary, Baby.

Dear Love of My Life,

Yup.  It has been seven years.  Seems so long ago, yet just yesterday when I was moving into that dorm room down the hall from that tall blonde boy with the ponytail.  (Yes, world, he had a ponytail.)

You know what I loved about you?  Everything.  Well, after the ponytail.  I didn’t love that.  And the handlebar mustache period.  Everything else, though, I loved.  I swear.

Incidentally, I could never seem to quit you.  I’d date other people or even live on a different continent, but you… Seeing you always felt like coming home.  It didn’t even matter the circumstances, I just wanted to exist together.

For the past seven years, we’ve spent a lot of time dreaming, imagining, planning.  We had three children, started and ended careers, dreamed of many futures, and were forced to change course many times.  While I’m grateful and proud of what we have done with our lives together, this isn’t about any of that.

I don’t think the results of our love are what make us so great.  Our kids will grow up and have their own worlds.  Dreams will change, ambitions will change.  The world will change around us in ways that we can’t control.  We will change.

No, what makes us amazing is… us.

I really do think that we existed somewhere before we physically met.  It is like we were always spiritually back to back.  Two halves of a whole, who just needed to turn inward to really see each other.  Maybe that is what love is… Maybe we are just inhabiting a space together that was already there, meant just for us.  That, in the nearly fifteen years that I’ve known you, has never changed.  That space felt the same fifteen years ago when I first laid eyes on you, seven years ago when we exchanged vows, and each time I see you now.

We are together on this rock, spinning through space, together.  It’ll always be us.  The same as it always was.

Happy anniversary, baby.  I love you.

Your Wife