For three years, I had the most perfect marriage in the entire world. I never set out to brag about it, but it's really hard not to. We loved each other. We liked each other. We finished each other's sandwiches, sentences and Starbucks (he was the slowest drinker on the planet). We left each other love notes every day. We surprised each other with the exact same gift on more than one occasion (Sleater-Kinney tickets, the Wes Anderson coffee table book and Gaslight Anthem tickets). We were only married for three years (he died, OK? Cut us a break), but if you have a person to text about anything, or a person to play with your hair while you watch TV and eat three bowls of ice cream, or a person to remind you to book the dentist appointment you've been postponing for like 100 years, consider yourself lucky.
As someone who's lost their person, here's what I want you to tell yours. Every day, if you can.
As someone who's lost their person, here's what I want you to tell yours. Every day, if you can.
