Hey, thanks.

At 4am I originally opened this box with the intention of pouring out the ache of a heart trapped in a vise... but then you moved a bit in your sleep, and I placed my hand gently on your face. You softly kissed it while barely awake, and slowly smiled and gave it a squeeze. I know I complain that you should work out more, and that you should eat better. I know that I'm not always easy to get along with, and that I push you, sometimes too hard, because my desire for your success overpowers even the desire for my own. I'm moody, irrational, and I ask for a whole lot more than I can realistically expect you to ever give me.

You tell me no one is ever good enough in my eyes. No one is ever enough for me. I always need more more more and am not satisfied unless the absolute limit has been reached and then exceeded. This is true and probably good in terms of careers and education... but if I've learned anything at all from my extreme way of being and the years I've spent with and without you, it's that in love things have to be more gentle. More patient. More lenient. Slower. Softer. Kinder. All things that I struggle with, and you excel in, are things that I should push myself harder to become. Because even though I don't say it (and I certainly should), and even though I might not show it (please know I try) you are everything to me. You are more than enough for me and for anyone else, and I'd be a total fool to not appreciate every single second of my life with you.

Thank you for loving me, even when I don't deserve it. Thank you for being you, and not minding that I'm me.