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I can't believe it's been three years now since our last Christmas together. Time really does fly when you're busy, I guess. I still can't believe it's our first Christmas together-together. And I can't believe I can't still say "we're a couple", "he's my boyfriend" - we've been married now for almost a week. How adorable, blushing while trying to find the words to describe our bond.

Also, I can't believe you fucking woke me up today at half-past-three in the morning when you knew I fell asleep at two. I was fuming the whole ride to Lord Knows Where, sitting in the passenger's seat of your truck, thinking about my warm couch and blankets and how I hate the morning cold and not getting enough sleep the morning of the day I'll catch a red-eye flight. But you looked so happy you were glowing, but maybe that was my contacts drying my eyes again. Then we arrived to our old houses. I couldn't believe how different everything looked: my house was a different (and very very ugly) color, your house had a dog that wasn't Satan's Spawn.

I knew we could both see fourteen years: climbing the tree in my backyard, sitting in your rooftop or on my porch, staying up all night while you tried out your first drumkit. Tragedy never struck us, but it wasn't all joy and fun either ... I guess we could call all of our years together "bittersweet" because of the balance of events.

You guided me through the door. Your house wasn't your home anymore, it didn't have that "three men live here" feel or noise. But it still had the stairs to the rooftop, and I smiled as we sat there once more. I held your hand and placed my head on your shoulder, you wrapped your arm around me and squeezed.

See, that's the beauty about 'us': we don't need to talk. Sure, we like to and we do. But most of the time we already know what the other's thinking. Like when you tense your lips whenever you're in pain. Or raise your eyebrows when you're thinking about something. Body language? Hardly. Sometimes it takes just a touch for me to know what you're feeling.

I fell asleep and you woke me up just in time for us to see the sun rise. "Happy birthday, by the way," I yawned. You had that really wide smile on your face as your rummaged through your backpack - and took out a plane ticket. Then you showed it to me. "I'm going to London with you," you said and kissed my forehead. And for some reason I started crying.

But why do I write it down? You see, life has shown me that memories are all you have once everything's over. I don't want to end this but someday it will. Hopefully, this will live to grow old with us: the metal drummer and the crazed redhead with a wedding ring that came out of a cereal box; with tattoos and piercings and crazy stories, none of which we regret, to share with our grandchildren. Getting married in the backyard of a Wiccan priestess and having the reception at a dine-in, with vanilla Twinkies for a wedding cake and drinking vodka. And you know what? I wouldn't change this for the world.

So happy birthday, boo. Here's to fourteen years of friendship, eight months of love, five days of marriage ... and many, many more.

Description
I can't believe it's been three years now since our last Christmas together. Time really does fly when you're busy, I guess. I still can't believe it's our first Christmas together-together. And I can't believe I can't still say "we're a couple", "he's my boyfriend" - we've been married now for almost a week. How adorable, blushing while trying to find the words to describe our bond.

Also, I can't believe you fucking woke me up today at half-past-three in the morning when you knew I fell asleep at two. I was fuming the whole ride to Lord Knows Where, sitting in the passenger's seat of your truck, thinking about my warm couch and blankets and how I hate the morning cold and not getting enough sleep the morning of the day I'll catch a red-eye flight. But you looked so happy you were glowing, but maybe that was my contacts drying my eyes again. Then we arrived to our old houses. I couldn't believe how different everything looked: my house was a different (and very very ugly) color, your house had a dog that wasn't Satan's Spawn.

I knew we could both see fourteen years: climbing the tree in my backyard, sitting in your rooftop or on my porch, staying up all night while you tried out your first drumkit. Tragedy never struck us, but it wasn't all joy and fun either ... I guess we could call all of our years together "bittersweet" because of the balance of events.

You guided me through the door. Your house wasn't your home anymore, it didn't have that "three men live here" feel or noise. But it still had the stairs to the rooftop, and I smiled as we sat there once more. I held your hand and placed my head on your shoulder, you wrapped your arm around me and squeezed.

See, that's the beauty about 'us': we don't need to talk. Sure, we like to and we do. But most of the time we already know what the other's thinking. Like when you tense your lips whenever you're in pain. Or raise your eyebrows when you're thinking about something. Body language? Hardly. Sometimes it takes just a touch for me to know what you're feeling.

I fell asleep and you woke me up just in time for us to see the sun rise. "Happy birthday, by the way," I yawned. You had that really wide smile on your face as your rummaged through your backpack - and took out a plane ticket. Then you showed it to me. "I'm going to London with you," you said and kissed my forehead. And for some reason I started crying.

But why do I write it down? You see, life has shown me that memories are all you have once everything's over. I don't want to end this but someday it will. Hopefully, this will live to grow old with us: the metal drummer and the crazed redhead with a wedding ring that came out of a cereal box; with tattoos and piercings and crazy stories, none of which we regret, to share with our grandchildren. Getting married in the backyard of a Wiccan priestess and having the reception at a dine-in, with vanilla Twinkies for a wedding cake and drinking vodka. And you know what? I wouldn't change this for the world.

So happy birthday, boo. Here's to fourteen years of friendship, eight months of love, five days of marriage ... and many, many more.