When you love someone deeply, sh*t gets real. You have to talk about uncomfortable things, to make peace with what you’ve lived and learned, and convey where you’re coming from and where you want to go. Then, hopefully, grow from there together.

After my first love, it was hard to believe in anything lasting; it was easy to believe in fleeting—life, faith.

I learned that you can only rely on yourself at the end of the day, and I did a pretty good job of taking care of me. I did not need a man. (Anyone who says that you do is ignorant and ridiculous, anyway.) But people love dropping hints about settling down when you’re in your mid-twenties. I paid no heed. To me, that was irrelevant. I had plenty of male friends, each of whom suited different occasions. Life never had a dull moment; how fabulous and fun.

Then came along this interesting guy who made me rethink commitment (such a dreadful word in the past), who made me believe in actual, genuine love. Something as strong as the bond you have with your family and lifelong best friends: You are inextricably linked. Whether you fight for that person or fight with that person, your loyalty to that person is infallible. You would do anything for them.

Our second year was not always roses, but our love pulled us though. We’ve lived, we’ve laughed, and we’ve definitely loved.

Boyfriend, best friend, handyman, hairstylist, football/bad movie watching companion, confidante and partner in crime—You da best. I love you! 

Happy Anniversary to the One & Only Mr. JoeLuva ♥

Oh, and all the reasons I fell in love in the first place still ring true.

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