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Year Number Five

Rushing between classes, I sat perched on his desk chair in his dorm room writing him a note while he slept. I was on a crazy 18-credit schedule toward a never-obtained chemistry degree and was in class much more often than he was; I was jealous that he had the luxury of sleeping in.

I don't recall the content of the note, it was probably some mundane scheduling information, but as I wrote I heard him ask from his bed, "Why are you always so beautiful?"

A few weeks later he flew back home for Thanksgiving while I stayed in Fairbanks and drug a friend to turkey dinner at Damon's. The next night he proposed. Over the telephone.

It wasn't a question that took me by surprise; I had known it was coming for months and had even considered popping it myself instead of waiting for him to do it.

Happy fifth anniversary, love.