Ten years. I keep turning that number over in my hands, and it still feels like a gift I can't quite believe I was given.
It started at a rainy bus stop, with one umbrella and two strangers who had no idea what they were stepping into. I think about how easily I could have stood there alone, staying dry and missing everything. Instead you made room beside you, and I have been under shelter ever since.
What I love most about you is how calm you are. You are thoughtful in the way you listen, in the way you notice things, and in the way you make a hard day feel smaller just by being in the room. Being close to you feels like coming in from the weather and hearing the door click shut behind me. And then there is your laugh, the best one I know. It fills a room, and it has carried me through more ordinary Tuesdays than you could guess.
I am so proud of the life we have built out of simple things. Cooking side by side, with the kitchen warm and something good on the stove. Road trips with the windows down and the next turn still a surprise. Crossword races, where you pretend you aren't competing and we both know better.
And I will never forget the night we got the keys to our first place. We danced in the kitchen with no music that mattered, just the two of us in an empty room that was already full. I knew then that home was never going to be a building. It was going to be you.
Thank you for ten years of patience, laughter, and quiet kindness. Thank you for being my safe place and my favorite adventure at once.
Whatever comes next, I will be right beside you, sharing the umbrella. I love you today, tomorrow, and always.