Today Radley turns 27 years old — exactly six months after I did, because opposites attract or something? — and as usual, I find myself looking back at birthdays past. Over the last couple years, I've written him little birthday notes, so it felt only appropriate to do the same today, too.
I remember when you turned 21. We'd only been together a short time, but as we sat at that long table with all our friends, drinks and brand-new memories between us, I watched you laugh until you cried and I thought that I'd like to be beside you for more birthdays. Maybe even all of them.
I remember when you left the keys in your motorcycle not once, but twice, and I remember sitting together, waiting for help, and the way you blushed when you said you'd forgotten because you were nervous, because you were excited to see me. Sometimes, when you're sweetly embarrassed, I see that same smile. You've changed so much, but all the right things have stayed the same.
I remember when we were walking along the beach between our houses and you were genuinely worried about me stepping barefoot on the sidewalk. You offered me your size-14 flip flops and I laughed and laughed, and when I walked over a sharp rock, you didn't say I told you so.
I remember when we moved in together and everyone thought we were crazy and we did too, and then we had a picnic in the living room and I decided crazy was a good thing to be.
I remember when someone asked me to tell them all about you, and all I could say was, "He's just so good." It's been six years and sometimes that's still the best way to say it. You're so good.
I remember our wedding day, and your face when we saw each other. It was quiet, the only sound my dress rustling along the brick walkway, and you were stepping back and forth, one foot to the other, so nervous I thought I'd laugh and sob at the same time. And then your face. Your face.
To all the birthdays that still lie ahead, XO
And letters from birthdays past...