Four days after we met, I took this picture of you at JFK Airport:
God, I knew how you felt. I felt that way too. Luckily you stole my camera for proof:
Four minutes after this picture was taken, you asked me a loaded question: “What are we going to do?” I knew what you meant exactly. About this. About this great, complicated, bicoastal love we shared.
I wasn’t a fortune teller but I think I knew everything even then. And more. But I didn’t tell you. It was my secret. And how could I have put it into words? How could I have understood it fully at the young age of 24? I think it would have gone something like this:
“I’ll tell you what we’re gonna do. We’re gonna have an epic, love-filled summer of dreams, moose, wolves and whales. And fireworks. I have to warn you, though. A dark shadow will cross our fate. We’re going to get scared and mess up our love. We’re going to silently pine for each other in our own ways for two years and then find each other again in time and space. We’re going to get married, survive a traumatic move together, and then give birth to the most amazing little girl you could imagine. And that’s just the beginning…”
Stay tuned, old friend. Happy Birthday, my love.