You, in the middle, yeah…right there. I didn’t know you then. so often I find myself glancing through old photos—where was I on this date, I’d think…what was I up to—you see, it’s hard. Hard to imagine or, I don’t know, remember, my life pre-you. Common, trite, yeah, maybe cliché—that, “i cant remember what life was like before and sure as hell, couldn’t imagine it without.” But damn, does the cliché ring true. And yet it’s funny…why even consider it? Because we get it. There are billions of people on this speck and we will only meet so few…what determines those meetings, those interactions…how…why…and yet…i don’t care. I just know that you were one of those few. And damn, how lucky was I? I go back and forth, weighing the two, serendipity, chance… or fate. Choices, the right time, the right events, that led—in some way that we will never be able to grasp—led to what probably always was…became, and most definitely is…that person, our person…my person. You. Separate events that had to unfold, the small, mundane, those that go unnoticed in the day-to-day, wisps in our memory, and yeah, those bigger ones, of course. Combined, tallied up, some incomprehensible push and pull, leads, directs us, tripping over cobble stones and stepping in dog shit along the way and then…bam. Life says it’s time. you’re ready, and then…you were there…and slowly, you and me became us, a we. I don’t know what brought us together. But I know I love you.
I know I know love because of you. Love in a way that I have never known. That I love harder because of you. That I never understood the meaning of loving with intention until you. That the right person brings out the best in you, doesn’t seek to change or mold you into her vision, but heightens the positive, highlights the unseen or things we attempt, unconsciously or not, to hide or downplay. Yet, too, they reveal the not so pretty, our faults. Things that we dont want to readily admit or own up to. Not through pettiness or on purpose, but simply through love and the act of loving, in the conversations, the arguments, the silence, the absence…self-awareness, checkins, sure it exists and they happen. But assuredness can border on arrogance. And stubbornness doesnt always translate to tenaciousness; it can just be plain fucking annoying…limiting…frustrating. Because “love does not […] boast; it is not arrogant […]; it does not insist on it’s on way;” and as a proud little bull, love—your love—strips me on a daily basis, of that pride. Strips me and then recovers me in understanding and patience and humility. Love empowers us and humbles us in equal measure. You, your love, makes me confront and reexamine, re-approach, admit where and when I’m wrong, makes me be better, do better. you made and make me a better me. You’re my number one fan, my supporter, my encourager, the other half of that best bakery.
I would’ve wanted nothing more than to celebrate with you today (so stop your slackin with our teleporter), but I hope your day was somethin else. Heres to 27 being your best year yet. Heres to cupcakes, kick-ass exam scores, adventures, you learning to swim (no?…ok.), Cosby show reruns, some legit Zumba POC presence, Frenchies and bulldogs, mini pigs, and cultivating relationships with dope people, new experiences, that excite, challenge, and grow you. Know that you have brought and continue to bring so much joy and lightness and love into my life. Texas was apart of you long before me, because gurh, ya heart is just as big, your compassion, your selflessness, your sense of family and loyalty, your humor, your awareness…you get so much of what others miss. The way you see things, the way you see others, the way you see me. You challenge me, inspire, motivate, are an endless source of encouragement and support. Your passion and focus? I couldn’t be more proud of you for going after what you want. Everyday, but especially on yours, I just want you to know how incredibly fucking special, one-of-a-kind you are…that you are loved beyond measure and comprehension, that you are celebrated.
More than a little, more than a lot, more than all of me…
space and mason jar love,