Two years ago today I woke up feeling differently than I ever had before. Smitten isn’t the right word; I was a very unique kind of curious.

This guy walked into my life in a peculiar way. This guy who made balloon animals, designed model train sets, loved Wisconsin football and sang Copeland songs better than Aaron Marsh. He was—and still is—an anomaly that I couldn’t figure out. I’ll spend the rest of my life decoding his mind, working my way through his intricacies. 

He was a rock star and I was the girl who didn’t care. He invited me to shows and I didn’t go. He asked for my number and I said no. Somewhere in there, a friendship formed that instantly reached past the superficial. We instantly clicked in a way I can’t imagine ever knowing another person. We talked, that first night, as if we were old friends; He shared things his family didn’t even know, and I listened without passing judgement or blame. 

I fell in love quickly and slowly all at the same time. Some days I don’t understand how I got so lucky that I found him in amongst all the mess of life. 

I hope he still kisses my forehead and leaves me notes after five years. I hope he still texts (or whatever modern communicatory tool we have them) “I love you!” after 10. I hope he still sings me songs after 20 years. I hope after 30 he still cooks for me and does the dishes after I prepare a meal. 

I hope we never lose this feeling that we have now—of being unstoppable. I hope we keep fighting and pushing and working through life the way we have for the last two years: full-force, head down and with enough power to take on the world.

I hope after 50 years he still turns to me and says: “I told you we could make the world jealous.”

You and me, girl
We can make the world
Want to be us
So come with me, girl 
And we’ll make the world
So jealous