I’ve come to realize over the days, weeks, and months that I can’t promise you a perfect love. But here’s the thing: I don’t want to. I don’t want to promise you perfection because that doesn’t exist.

But this, I promise you.

I promise you our special kind of love.

I promise to be your best friend.

I promise you imperfections. By that, I mean I promise that I will have faults, as will you, and as will we, together. Nothing is perfect. That includes us, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I promise to sit through your shows and movies on Netflix without complaint, so long as the favor is returned.

I promise to sing along to Three Days Grace in the car. Every single time. (And it’s okay if you laugh at me.)

I promise to talk. No issue will ever go unsaid, and no worries will ever be kept from you. I will talk, and talk, and talk. Please promise me the same.

I promise to limit the Friends marathons to once a month.

I promise to never (intentionally) steal the blankets or hog the bed.

I promise to always be your biggest fan. If anyone’s going to hype you up, it’s me. Always. Without fail.

I promise to see your family and friends as my family and friends.

I promise to always be the one you can talk to.

I promise to love you at your worst, at your best, and at the times in between.

I promise to laugh a little too hard at the crazy things you do, like when you try to eat food you just pulled from the microwave.

I may not be perfect, but I promise to try.