We found each other.
8 billion people in the world.
2.161 million in Paris, alone.

It scares me to think of any other reality existing — one where we miss one another. Maybe it doesn’t rain that day, or maybe instead of staying, I decided to get on a plane, or return to my other job, or maybe you decided to forgive and marry the girl you had been engaged to no less than two years before you met me.

There are a million different ways this could have gone differently. I think we both forget that sometimes.

After the year we’ve all had, it should be clear that nothing in life is certain. Not even us. Yet still, everyday, we manage to show up with just one foot in front of the other, and hope in our hearts.

I can’t count how many times I wanted to quit us. How many nights I fell asleep next to you, wounded, hurting, and filled with doubt. So many scars, you and I. But I also remember the singular pain of the many nights we spent falling asleep apart, while I was carrying your child, uncertain and afraid to end up alone.

I have to remember that you chose to leave the life that you knew to build this new one with me, and you’ve never looked back.

Happy Anniversary.
Thank you for choosing me, and us,
today and everyday.

I’ll love you for as long as I have you, because even forever doesn’t seem like enough.

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