Yeah, I’m thinking of you. When maybe a little bit stays And maybe not everything’s gone. But the downhill is the best part. Dearest, After the last one, I wrote 77 reasons I’d be happy he’s gone. After you, I couldn’t think of any. Maybe it’s not because everything was perfect or because it shouldn’t have ended. But maybe just because there is no resentment. After everything I have no regret. After everything you were never gone. Dearest, Thank you for being with me tonight. Even as you sleep. For knowing that I’m knowing that it’s okay. There are so few girls That know how important it is to be really loved That know what it feels like to be prioritized To know what it feels like to be goddamn smart And goddamn sexy And goddamn respected And that shit took me by surprise. Dearest, You lit a candle And flickered all over my life. My hut, my dog, my family, my green finger. And, Dearest, you never stop shining. Dearest, Remember that weekend, will you? Remember me searching the crowd for your face And recognizing Us in the middle of a city And trying to figure out how we got there And spinning the camera around like The whole world revolved around that moment. Because it did, Dearest. Dearest, It’s haunting and hurtful and happy at once The cold that crept into the corners of our jackets But we shook it off gently as we skipped over ice And you made me laugh again and again And knew the pieces behind my eyes That melted when you came by And you knew I was scared So you built me a fort. Dearest, You forgave me. In gentle integrity, You helped me up And never asked more. Dearest, We have the same home And we have the same love Of the same places with the same memories And our hearts are next door neighbors. So let us be rascals in a mind’s eye, Squeezing onto sofas and tasting mountaintops. Teach me stick shift and I’ll teach you piano, And we’ll keep on writing masterpieces. I’m me and I’m happy and I’m alright as Not Us. But on this day, Dearest, let’s blow off the dust. Perfect memories build perfect futures But question marks punctuate our paths. So reach your hand behind the headrest And don’t forget that I’m still here. What we share doesn’t have an anniversary. It’s just a simple story of little you and little me. Dearest, You must be a painter Because I was colorblind Until you tenderly painted the words ARTICLE FIVE In technicolor Across my nose dimple.