Ten months to get here. I can hear you breathing in the tent. It is so good to wake up everyday and see you next to me. Some mornings the moment I open my eyes all the memories seems to pass through me at once: walking down 5th at 3am; the way you pulled me close to you the first night I stayed; talking with you on the lawn, leaning against a tree listening and shivering; cooking with you and laughing (I love your laughter); watching you sharpening with your file, the way your attention just zooms in; the way it feels when you look at me like that; pearching on my dresser in Washington, curling around a cellphone cause your voice is coming through it and I've been waiting for your voice all day; crying cause you're right and you're always right and the way it feels like it'll just break me sometimes because I sometimes feel like the most juvenile, annoying person you could possiblly be with and I'm too selfish to let you go find someone better; the way you smell when you're awake and they way you smell when you're asleep, they're different; the way you smile when I've just been very straightforward. I love you.