It’s been ten years. Three thousand six hundred and fifty-two days. In that time, three years of college; three of Americorps; three with a ‘real’ job. Two degrees and one diploma. Four years with the woman I love, who you will never meet. Forty-two foster kittens. Some hundred thousand miles on my car. One car accident, zero broken bones. Two trips to Washington DC, one to Yosemite, one to Switzerland. One new Jurassic Park movie, which you’ll never watch with me, and too many Tremors sequels. Three tattoos, going on four. One wedding to plan and one to attend. Three times a bridesmaid and once a bride. Zero fathers to walk me down the aisle. Zero dads to dance with. Zero you but countless dreams and too many things I’ll never get to share with you.


I remember two years ago. Another hot summer day just like this one, alone at my desk and unable to focus at all for the leap I was about to take. I remember trembling hands barely able to type, “I want to take you to my tea place. I want to drink out of fancy little teacups with you and eat scones with jam and lemon curd and thick, rich cream. I want to walk with you by the water and hold hands.” I remember holding my breath as I pressed “send”, the most terrifying thing I’d ever done. I remember jumping out of my chair, heart racing, pacing in tight circles around my cubicle and trying not to refresh the screen every second as I waited for your response. I remember seeing the little (1) pop up and my knees turning to jelly. I remember breath and heartbeat stopping completely as I read,

Yes. Yes. Yes. I would love to go out with you.

I remember wanting to whoop, scream, dance down the hallway, but instead I could only let out the longest, happiest sigh… and then wonder, “Oh no, what have I gotten myself into?”

You’re far more of an adventure than I ever could have expected. Or hoped.

Happy anniversary, beloved.