Dear husband.

Ten years ago when we started talking (on instant messenger, of all places. good grief.), I wanted to talk all the darn time. During the first few months, when I wasn't thinking about practicing for orchestra or how embarrassing our graffiti-ed dance team hats were, I was wondering where you were, what you were doing, and when you were going to kiss me already. I knew that you were my first love, right from the start.

We went through high school with similar infatuation. I began to wonder when I would miss you less in the times we were apart, as I'd been told people do as they get older. We tend to wear our independence as a badge of honor - I crave time learning, exploring and building meaningful relationships outside of "us." It took time to learn appropriate balance. And though we've gotten to a healthy place, I'm afraid the joke is on me; I miss you, still. I'm hardly helpless without you, but every experience seems a little better when you're in it with me. Love is cruel and beautiful in that way, I suppose.

Don't get me wrong - you drive me completely crazy sometimes. You're stubborn and self-confident to a fault. In true every-marriage-book-you've-ever-read form, the things that attracted me to you are also the things that have started half of our disagreements - the other half belong to me. You are not a perfect human. I am not a perfect human. But I sure do enjoy figuring out how to be imperfect humans together.

All this to say, I love you so. More by the day.

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