Ivy,

  I tell you you’re beautiful not because I feel it should be said but because I know I cannot go without telling you. The words demand to be spoken–there exists an internal, intrinsic part of who I am that lives to cherish everything about you. It spills out in the quiet moments when I simply have to stop and tell you how lovely you look “today,” as if I don’t tell you every “today” that I see you.

  It’s a privilege to fall asleep and hope that I might dream about you. But it’s even more of one to know that I’ll see you once I wake up. People will often describe love as a leap of faith. With you, it feels more like coming home. There’s no uncertainty, no doubt, just a profound sense of rightness–like every step I’ve taken has led me to you. You’re not just part of my future; you’re the lens through which I can peer into it.

  You always share those oddly endearing analogies that leave me laughing, so here's one of my own. You’re the smell of freshly fallen rain on warm pavement–a distinctive petrichor that has me taking a deep, appreciative breath while I walk alongside you. Just as that scent slows hurried strangers to make them savor the moment, you have this natural ability to pull me out of my chaotic thoughts and ground me in the present. And in the same way that the rain transforms concrete into something magical and memorable, you turn our routine days into adventures worth remembering.

  And just as the scent of pavement-plodded rain is both deeply familiar and slightly different every time–sometimes earthy, sweet, or sharp with undertones of nostalgia–you manage to be consistently wonderful yet constantly surprising. I fall in love with you again and again every time I’m with you.

Always yours,
David