You know I had to do this, because you were the one who started it.

I know what it’s like to be in a relationship. I’ve been through them before, but with you, you brought something new to the table. I think that you know to go along with whatever I say and I also think you want to do those things that you agree to. And that’s really rare — a truly wonderful thing.

And you’re also wonderful.

I’ve never met anyone who I can joke around with so easily, losing track of myself and all my worries along the way. One simple comment can become a month-long running joke with us. One facial expression can be the one we turn to so we can cheer the other up — ‘oh really?’

But even through the rosy tint and the romantic gestures, I know what it’s like to be in a relationship. I’ve seen your feet, okay, and that took a lot out of me. I think I had to cleanse my spirit with some lavender incense after that. I’ve smelled your burps after Mexican food or a particularly strong swig of Dr. Pepper.

Okay, before I get the death stare: this is real life. The story I’m showing to the world is one in which I live in every day. There are the rosy moments, the romance that makes me feel like I’m stuck in Titanic on an endless loop, but you know that there are also these moments, and these are the moments I want the rest of my life to be like.

I want to sit on the couch with you and watch HGTV and complain about how everyone is too nit-picky. I want to suggest getting ice cream and realizing you wanted to suggest the same thing, but didn’t know how. I want to be so comfortable with you that I’m okay telling you that I drooled last night, that I might have peed a little when I sneezed - hey, don’t give me that look, it was a really strong sneeze!

I want to be this comfortable with you throughout the rest of my life because I’m this comfortable with you right now. Sure, I’ll wrinkle up my face when you show me the blisters or talk about which mole has hair, but...

That’s normal. We’re normal. And there’s no one else I would want to be normal with. No one else I would rather spend the rest of my days laughing with, fake passing out, or driving around with late at night.

You may be normal, but you’re perfect.

I say that because I’ve seen the way you look when you smile. I’ve seen the back of your hands and the individual hairs catching strays of sunlight and holding onto them. I’ve seen the crinkles at the corners of your eyes and mouth. And I’ve seen how smart you are - how hard you try. I know the anxiety that comes along with not feeling good enough or feeling too weak.

But you are good enough. You are strong enough. Brave enough. Handsome enough. You are ENOUGH. You are enough for me. In fact, you’re more than enough for me. You’re the strongest man I’ve ever met. You’re the most considerate man that I’ll ever know. You’re the sweetest boy I’ve ever seen. You’re the bravest - because you are working to overcome your anxiety. You are the bravest because you have opened up to me completely, through tears and smiles, and all those pretty things in between.

You are more than I could have ever asked for.

You are perfect.

I know that if I live with you, I’ll have to get used to the blisters. I’ll have to correct you when you do something wrong (“No, you don’t put the knife up in the dishwasher!?!”). I know I’ll have to explain some things, the hidden clues that I leave for you and the unsaid wishes (“I didn’t even know you wanted flowers, Lane, you didn’t even say anything to me?”). That last one is okay - sometimes I don’t even remember what I was trying to drop hints on.

But those things are what I’m going to have to accept, willingly and completely.

Just as I have accepted you. Just as I have accepted the person you were before you knew me, just as I have accepted the person you are now, and just as I’ve already accepted the person that you will become through time with me. You are perfect, but I know that you are changing because of my influence. And I can’t wait to see who you are afterwards - after all the growing pains and after finding yourself.

And I’ll find a way to learn to live with all those distinctly “guy” things (shudder) so that I do see that person.

I love you, Sam.

Thank you for all that you have done for me. Thank you for the person you have helped shape me to be. Thank you for all the endless patience, the endless reassurances, and the endless kisses. I only hope that I can pay you back in those same exact things; good thing is, I feel like I have awhile.