Because it's the most obvious thing in the world that I do.
When I was lost, beyond lost, you were the only one I stayed in touch with, you were the only one I trusted.
When I was happiest, well, it was with you. It was the meal after the photoshoot. The best sandwich ever made.
And it was walking around the fair like we'd done it a million times before. It was seeing that ad for the log house with the floor-to-ceiling windows in NH Magazine and thinking of how much you'd like that. How much I'd enjoy living with you there.
It's fine that you don't like dogs. I would have stayed with you forever on that boulder looking down at Lake Solitude. They are too much worry anyway. We need to be able to leave on a moment's notice, and sleep in late on Sundays.
You're going to work for National Geographic. Just you wait. We won't have children, and quietly I'll love you. Since it's you I think of when I wake at night, and you I think of when I see something amazing that I want to share; since it's you I remember in the dining room, and you my mother wants me to marry, it's the strangest thing in the world that I have to convince myself that I love you.
