My tall Swedish blonde.

She makes me laugh till I can’t breathe. Still.

From the moment we met, we clicked. That’s a lie, from the moment we met, we were indifferent (she’s Swedish and I play hard to get). But then we chatted, in the sun. Baking like we did. And it was then we clicked. Fragments of our souls slotted back together. Something made sense. I knew she was for keeps.

She was finishing her studies, no plans forward. I said ‘you should stay in Nice, get a job here, at the hostel’. ‘They’ll never give me one’ she said. So I got her one. A job. At the hostel. Sweet talked the bosses ‘a tall swedish blonde, who doesn’t want to be around a tall swedish blonde?’.

That was 8 years ago.

In that time we have shared countless moments of not being able to breathe from laughing so hard.

There are those people, who observe life the same way you do. Who can look around at a crowd and then back at each other and know exactly what the other is thinking. Those people who can listen to you, with open ears, and with the most open of hearts, judgements removed, personal needs momentarily put aside.

This is what she offers me.

There is nothing I cannot tell her.

There is nothing I cannot share.

She gives me permission to show up, just as I am. She celebrates it. And for this I am eternally grateful.

Seas may separate us, time differences may put conversations on hold, but when I see something awkward, inappropriate and ridiculously human, you’re always the one I think of. Always.

Thank you for getting married and making me come back over. You were the perfect excuse. I love you.