You are not me, but you are everything good about me. You are bereft of ego because we both know I have enough to fill a stadium with. Though you do not look down on me, you keep me grounded. You haven’t been around all my life, but have become my reason for being. To you, I am not E. or Edward, I am simply yours.
Twelve years isn’t a great deal of time when you think about the universe as a whole, but our time together stretches vast oceans of reality, and every minute we’re apart is an eternity. We’ve had our ups and downs, but mostly you’ve held me up. I make a living by writing, but you render me speechless, hence the reason I can’t string together more than six coherent words into a sentence when I’m alone with you. It’s rather hard to talk when those eyes of yours are staring back at me.
You are the light to my dark, my lighthouse beacon while I traverse stormy seas. You never fail to lead me home. Whenever the bleak shuffles in, you usher it out to make room for the bright. Not everyone has someone like you in their lives, and that, baby, is a tragedy mere words cannot describe. I can’t remember the days when I woke up to an empty bed, nor do I linger, trying to recall them. That would be akin to having won the lottery yet still worrying about the light bill from the prior month.
You came into my life while I was stable, but unhappy. You stayed when I became free, but chaotic. You loved me not for money or material things, but for me. Even though I was broken, you let me mend on my own time. There were plenty of situations where I was sure I’d lost you, but you remained.
You gave me two wonderful, intelligent children who never cease to amaze me. You care for them (and me at times) with an unshaken durability. If you can crack, you have yet to show anyone your weakness. You delight me with wonder. How can one person be so strong and so caring all at the same time?
I love to see you laugh until you cry. Moreover, I love being the one to make you do so. Your happiness is like a bauble at the bottom of a coin-operated claw machine, and I’m the one shoveling quarters in just to reach it. Though I might fail and fall flat on my face, it’s still a blast trying. And when I do lock onto that treasure, I feel as though I’ve conquered the world. Luckily, I beat the machine more often than not.
We’ve seen many places in our time together, but, as long as you’re around, I’m home. A dozen years is far too short a time to spend with you, so would you mind a dozen more? How about fifty? You’re still the one I want to find myself next to on the sofa when I’m ninety. I want to see you there, old and worn out just like me, but no less beautiful in the eyes of your husband.
We’ve stolen kisses in movie theaters until we couldn’t give a shit about Johnny Depp and his Secret Window, nor the other patrons in attendance; spoken ill of large ladies in neon green shirts who shuffled into alleyways never to be seen again; kept each other strong after surgeries; saw a star made of lights and wires upon a mountain in Virginia that seemed to float on the night sky, as if it too were a complex ball of gas; we had a child, lost the second, but had another; but mostly, we’ve lived. I wouldn’t give up a day I’ve spent with you, not for heavens real or imagined.
Know this above all else, for everything you are and are not, you are always you. And I love all that is you, baby. If my ride’s over before yours, I’d cut my way back to the beginning of the line, fighting tooth and nail, just to have one more go around with you.