March 31, 2018

My dearest,

The last week of March. Another year has passed. Happy anniversary.

Does it matter, though, when we started? When these ten years, even during times we are apart, we are never parted?

The last week of March. It’s not an end, not a finishing line, not a trophy for making it, for completing another three hundred and sixty-five days.

Maybe it’s a reminder that, more than the years, more than reaching our first decade, it is what we do now that matters. When we are sick and grumpy, or tired and unhappy, or puzzled (and in need of some experienced googling), or come what may, there is always the two of us and it’s better this way.

Maybe it’s a call to arms, to never take what we have for granted. (May we never take what we have for granted.)

The last week of March isn’t a celebration. It’s a me and you, a dance never once out of step, even when we stumble and graze our knees; we’ll pick each other up and bandage our wounds, wipe the dirt and tears from our cheeks. It’s perfectly ordinary and absolutely rare.

It’s an us and only us, our hearts so happy they’re fit to burst.

It’s every time I look into your eyes and it’s the first time I see your face, all over again. It’s us sipping far too sweet nai cha, your colourful Paul Smith cufflinks against your shirt’s gleaming white, your aloof gangster face, your nervousness flickering beneath your easy grace. And I give thanks for that first date, that first dinner in a cha chan teng, that first of us, that everything after. And I give thanks for whatever comes next.

Baby, you are the blue sky and the yellow sun, the gentle rain that washes the grime away. You are my mountain and my base, my endless sea of everything we can be. You are my pillow and my healing sleep, my sweet lavender that brings dreams still sweeter back to me. You are that carefree, tuneless song sung in the shower that never fails to lift my spirits, the biggest smile growing upon my lips.

You are my destination and my journey. You are my joy, my only other. You are my missing piece finally found. You are you who makes me a better me.

The last week of March. It’s our life, my heart of hearts.

Yours, ever and always.