Ten years tomorrow.
Look at us back then, so brave and determined to conquer life. Nothing could have prevented us from being together: not your father's unsubtle threat to get his gun, not the fact that we were by no means wealthy - all that mattered was that somehow we both knew we'd do more than just survive on a surfeit of love.
I grew up believing that my parents' failed marriage was the model for all marriages. I never thought I'd marry since it seemed all things end in tears. Until you arrived in my life, a gradual epiphany that slowly banished the shadows of solitude.
In you I've found my kakampi, my partner, my lover, my pillar, my confessor. You are the home I return to, the source of my strength, the relentless opponent in games that keep my mind sharp. It is an endless catalog, what you are to me and I regret not having a poetic bone in my body (I would fake it but you'd know).
I have a present for you (and no, it's neither tin nor aluminium, the traditional tenth anniversary materials), but I think a better gift is to reiterate my heart's decision ten years ago:
"You and me, babe. How about it?"
Ten years is not enough time to show you how much I love you.
Happy Anniversary, beloved.