Five years ago, we were here:
 |
| Now you know who to blame for the Great Confetti Shortage of 2008. |
Now, I’m here, and you’re there. Or you’re here and I’m there? That’s what it feels like. You’re here,
where we began, where we had our first date, where we got married, where I gave
birth to our son, where we planted our garden and made our life, and I’m there, somewhere else, somewhere you’ve never been.
Five years is the wood anniversary. We haven’t seen each other in almost two
months, and surely you’ve got wood to spare…but in terms of presents, I’m
buying you a secondhand wooden desk, for when you get here. And I’m asking you to buy and plant a little
tree for me, for when we get back there.
That has a nice symmetry.
From the U.S. State Department, we got our present a couple
days early: your paperwork is moving along, and soon you'll be able to request your visa interview! Also, our
Fischer-Price counterparts had a romantic dinner date:
 |
| This would be a lot sexier if we had arms and stuff. |
We met on a bus. You
proposed to me on another bus. Our
wedding changed venues with fewer than forty-eight hours to spare. We put 100,000 kilometers on our car in our
first four years of marriage. We've said goodbye and hello again in airports and bus terminals all over Mexico. Our relationship has always been defined by movement.
I know
you’ll be here soon.
 |
| More confetti. |