my love,

typically i take these moments to write something artsy, something crafted, rife with memories and nostalgia, something crafted.

i do not want to do this now. i want instead to tell you, i am afraid. i am afraid of what you mean to me, of what my life would’ve been without you, of how much of my day to day silliness is predicated that you are my audience. i am afraid of how much i yearn to be around you, to know you are near, of how it is all meaningless without you.

yes, there are the kids, but they are not my partners. they have and will have their own problems to solve and lives to build. i built this life with you. and this year has been such a struggle, we’ve had so many scares. i never considered your mortality, being so obsessed with mine own, with work, with money, with the kids’ futures, until this last year. you cannot do this to me. you cannot leave me. i refuse it.

i refuse it because all of this is for one singular purpose: it is for us, it is for you. maybe because of my fears i have chosen hope. i have been driven to hope, to work for hope, to plan for a hopeful future. a future where i will sunbathe with my wife again. we will hike through a forest again. we will cuddle as the sun rises again. for a future where we will wander the streets of some city like we did in paris. to wander the streets of paris again, perhaps for our fiftieth.

all these little notes through the years revolve around the same themes, be it an anniversary, christmas, a birthday, valentines, it doesn’t matter. none of that matters. only you matter. because you are the key to all of this. thirty years ago you broke something in me. you shattered me into believing. you shattered me into dreaming.

you brought me to life.

love, always
me