Dear husband.

I found myself looking through old photos of the two of us last night - experiences like pieces to a puzzle that I've carefully assembled with you (the only puzzle I've ever enjoyed). How on earth was this taken ten years ago? Much of me is still that fifteen-year-old, up to my ears in books, big plans and a crazy love for the senior guy who kissed me unexpectedly one cool autumn evening, and hasn't stopped kissing me since. 

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