Six Years. Seventy-two months. A little over 313 weeks. 2191 and one half day. Since we were both 21 years old. Since when we were both still in university. Since when my hair was really short and the red always washed out and turned to candy floss pink within a week. Since when my teeth were crooked because I had just gotten my braces. Since five pairs of glasses ago (two of them yours, three mine). Since two flats ago. Also four deaths ago. But also two adorable bunnies ago. Three social networks ago. About nine jobs ago. An uncountable number of email addresses ago. I reckon about four mobile carriers ago. Three bikes and one car ago. Two depressions and two burn outs ago. A bunch of fights ago. About one hundred life-altering talks ago. Zero break-ups ago. Fairly few hangovers ago. Quitting smoking twice ago. An inordinate number of video games ago. Tons of books and newly discovered artists ago. Six iPods ago. I don't know how many Windows computers ago but definitely two Macs ago. Four proper vacations and three dog-sitting retreats ago. Not enough photographs ago. A gazillion of I love you's ago. That's how long we've been together. That's when I fell in love with you. No, actually, I fell long before that.
The numbers of friends lost and gained pretty much even each other out. So do the good and the bad days. That's okay. Because you get me.
I've never been in a relationship this long before. I honestly never thought I would be, because who'd be able to bear me this long? Well, apparently you are. I don't know how you do it because I know I can be a handful. But I guess so can you, and that's another thing that gets evened out. Balance.
It's not that we complete each other – we each have to do that for ourselves, and that's a good thing – it's that we understand each other, even in the most outlandish things. Sure, basic communication is not our thing but it only seems to be an issue in the trivial things and discussions. When it comes to the important stuff we do alright I think. We broke each other, in a healing way, and put each other back together again.
You take on the things around the house which I absolutely hate to do. I made you a cheesy anniversary video and you wrote me a wonderful love letter. You bought me a bike, and I built you a bar. You introduced me to Buffy and M.A.S.H. and I still haven't made you watch The Sound of Music (it's hilarious, really!). I got you to read the Harry Potter books and now you're obsessed with them. We played Splinter Cell: Conviction together and nothing hones your communication skills like stealthing and shooting your way through a room together.
I buy you more cameras than you can use and always overfill the fridge. You get me organised and make the dirt in our apartment go away. I make you put lotion on your elbows. You get up early, I go to bed late. When I studied for my final exam we barely saw each other. I have a hard time falling asleep without you, you prefer to not sleep at all when I'm not home. This is probably why we've spent only approximately a cumulative fortnight apart in the past six years. You got me through my fucking thesis and stood by me even thought I know you wanted to strangle me half the time. You brought me chocolate (which made me fat, but that's not your fault) and cooked me dinner and helped me focus when I freaked. You stayed up with me all night to add last minute changes and corrections. You believed in me when I wanted to quit my jobs and become a storyteller. You believe in me much more than I do myself and that's a good thing because I'm busy believing in you when you don't.
I love that about you, that you believe in my like no one else. I love that we can be really stupid together and talk in idiotic sentences and made-up words. I love that we can laugh until we're in stitches. I love that you damn well know how to use all those cute facial expressions that you can make, especially when I'm actually trying to stay mad at you. I love that you reconsidered having kids because of me. I love that you are my family. I love you.