Good morning, my love. Maybe before the bonkerhead wakes up, you can read this and have a moment of peace to yourself. Make a cup of tea and think about what would have happened if you’d not run off with me eight years ago. You could have done anything and you were headed anywhere. You married a Kentucky boy and dropped out of college. And we rambled about very unwisely like young people do, only married to each other and stuck with one another’s choices. I know you remember this. In the words of a wise rock n roll band, “Baby we were young.”
It has been the best, hardest, most fulfilling, most challenging, and most rewarding life with you. I’d be my old dumb self, only ten years further into bad habits. You’re the sharp edge. You live a beautiful life. You don’t let me out easily, or at all, and I’m bland without your kicks in the ribs. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I wish I had longer to write.
Tell the butternut lakemonster to let you get something done today. Happy anniversary. I love you.