I am not perfect or even good. I am not deserving of all this, of you. Perhaps it is simply luck or divine grace that allows me to be here for reasons unknown. Perhaps it is to help me be more than I could be on my own. Perhaps it is because it is how it was always meant to be. I am not perfect or even good but I am thankful, every single day for this, for us.
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From the book J gave me on our first anniversary shortly after we had seen Il Postino -
Sonnet LXIX
Maybe nothingness is to be without your presence,
without you moving, slicing the noon
like a blue flower, without you walking
later through the fog and the cobbles,
without the light you carry in your hand,
golden, which maybe others will not see,
which maybe no one knew was growing
like the red beginnings of a rose.
In short, without your presence: without your coming
suddenly, incitingly, to know my life,
gust of a rosebush, wheat of wind:
since then I am because you are,
since then you are, I am, we are,
and through love I will be, you will be, we'll be.
Pablo Neruda
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