I’m typing this sitting up next to your sleeping form. You’re snoring off the effects of your morning whisky and grunting non-verbal protests every time I try to touch you. We just had another huge fight but with the consistency of sunrise and sunset, we still get into bed together ach time, fuming, backs turned to each other. You’re a private person and we’ll probably have another fight when you find this but what better time to write you this than when you’re not talking to me, and we’re both questioning why and how we got together in the first place?
Well, I’ll tell you. It was your intelligent eyes and the permanent twinkle of mischievous humour in there. Life hasn’t been so kind and you don’t laugh as often and as loud as you used to but the constant has been your sense of humour and us. Through the job losses, changes, moves allover the country, trans-night cross border journeys, we have stuck together like an annoying African dictator sticks to power. Wrong analogy but I know you’ll get it. That’s another thing. You get IT. You get me. And I’m hard to get. Or was hard to get. So you can gerrit.
You came along like a phantom out of the corny love songs that still make me grimace and turned my life around. I told all your friends you were too good to be true and kept waiting to exhale. You restored my faith in love and after all these years, I’ve had to exhale at some point. Whatever we have lost, we have gained so much more than I can compress into a few sentences. Your dependable, selfless love sustains us, this.
[“I bet you thought I couldn’t write mushy….”] But here we are. It’s been real, hun. Thank you for the roller coaster ride of laughter and tears and intense conversations and fights and arguments and
the barrels of liquor and….just you. I love you. To many more years!