I love you.

Dear Rufflebutt:

I love you so much. It makes me sad when I succumb to the urge to tell you that I love you, because I feel so cheesy and needy doing it. Plus, you never believe me. I am always trying to dream up new ways to prove to you that I'm not "just saying it," and I don't feel obligated to say it. I just love you. I really really really do. And I hope that by the time this email reaches you, you still love me, and that we are still together.

By this time we are either long broken up, which would make this email intensely awkward, or we have taken the next step together, whatever that step may be. I hope that we are able to work out all the squabbling and bickering. Hopefully by now I am better at admitting when I am wrong, and you're just wrong less often ;)

Happy Birthday Baber. I love you. I always have, and I probably always will.