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Well done, my human.

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I will love you in the truest, most unexplainable sense. I will love you in the darkness, I will love you in the light, and I will love you in the chasm that lies in between.

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I wish you knew all those things. And a million more. Because I want to know a million and one things about you. And I’m learning.

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I can’t help but laugh with you. It’s not just my normal flirtatious I’m-on-a-first-date laugh that I’ve practiced in the mirror; you make me do my true, ugly laugh.

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I want to look at you when we are 80 and say, “We made it through.”

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But I don’t want something reasonable, or rational, or well thought-out. I know you aren’t the lucid, practical choice, but you’re what I want.

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If they tell you you’re wrong about something, your anger subsides a lot faster in the effort to work something out.

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Like the way you’ll sit through foreseeably awful romantic comedies with me and never comment on their predictability, because you know that I find comfort in knowing what’s to come.

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When you were a little kid, all of your dolls/stuffed animals were in long-term, committed relationships with one another. Two of your teddy bears would be soon nearing their silver anniversary.

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Meeting a person from a much older generation who is just as open-minded and socially progressive as all of your friends.