Happy Birthday, Darling.
I met Matthew when I was sixteen.
I was dating one of his friends at the time. Matt likes to roll his eyes when I tell people this.
"It sounds weird, like we did something wrong," he says.
But darling, you are the most wonderful, most right person I ever chose to love.
We didn't date until long after that friend of his and I broke up. It was the summer of our Freshman year in college - Bastille Day - and we were living in Florida.
I wanted to celebrate something, and I managed to convince all our friends to drive to the beach at night and we ate cheese and sang and played in the darkness.
The sound of water crashing, Matt's arm around my shoulder. Goofing off. Stargazing. Flip phones for flash lights.
The start of it all.
He was my first love and my first broken heart. He is the only man I ever truly wept for in a way that left me breathless on the bathroom floor.
He is my passion and my companion. My kindest friend, and the truest, closest thing I've ever known to grace on this earth - a living, breathing example of a man after God's heart.
And those blue eyes. They get me every. single. time.
I love that you make me coffee every morning, and make sure all the doors are locked and the lights are off every night.
I love that we have inside jokes based off of our favorite Masterpiece Theater mini series. I love that you love Masterpiece Theater.
I love that our dog worships the ground you walk on.
I love that you're so smart and I can't always understand what you're saying or studying, but that I can make you laugh when I try to tell you how the world should really work 'according to Christina.'
I love that we spend our weekend mornings looking at pictures of houses we want to own someday and dreaming of travel and babies and all the things we'll do and see together.
Oh Matthew, most of all, I love that you chose me.
Happy 28th, Darling.