Happy 30th Birthday! I love you. I wrote this one morning in August, in my journal, and since you are so nice and never ask what I write, I thought I’d share it with you here, for your birthday:
A – I am sitting here watching you sleep on the little wicker couch on our porch. I’m on the other wicker couch. There’s a fly that wants to land on your head, but won’t. Not on my watch. For a second, I imagine my heart is a great, big port and all the love I’ve ever known sails over to you. It smells like its going to rain, I say, and then you’re awake again, swatting flies with your Economist. Your calves look strong the way your legs are hanging over the side of the couch. I can see the mangled nail on your big toe from that one day of skiing. I wonder if you’ll still look like this in 10 years when we’re married, with so much more life behind us. I wonder if I’ll still feel great, big yachts of love for you, in sandals and on patios, listening to you talk about heading for a shower. Whiskey is stretched out by the BBQ watching you, just a little, the way she always does, from the corner of her eye that keeps growing cloudier with age. The air is thick and warm, almost steaming off our skin. This summer there are spiders everywhere…
Let’s go find cheesecake tonight. I like celebrating you. Happy Birthday, my love.