For my ‘wife.’

Long ago, as roommates, we joked about how we should get married so that we could live together, date anyone we wanted and still collect the tax breaks that married people do.

It’s time, now, to share all that you are with your partner.

And all that you are is so much.

I wish I was a better storyteller because I want to be the best friend at your wedding that stands proud at the podium, dazzling friends and family with perfectly hilarious (yet tear-inducing) anecdotes.

I want to tell the world our countless tales, since every interaction between us is magic. Each moment is filed somewhere in my heart—but I have trouble finding stories on demand.

So I write you this to tell you that I am so happy for you. Happy that you have strong arms to hold you every night, especially when your wonderful imagination turns wayward. When, against all of your might, the nightmares arrive to wake you in cold sweats.

I want to spend time with you in that colourful world, playing with the crazy creatures that form in your good dreams (I’m there with you in the nightmares too, of course, fighting demons to their death). And you could join me in mine, where we would drive classic cars through wide open spaces, joining forces with the most magical of beings.

In each place, we’d drink only the finest wines and scotches, the kinds that melt into your throat, making tastebuds and tummy purr with pleasure. The kinds that could hold us in all-night conversations and spare us the hangovers.

In our dreams we’d make music and dance to our heart’s content.

We would laugh so much, and be so strong. Our strength would be our rawness, our vulnerability, moments where we’d hold hands and cry on each other’s shoulders when the tears just had to come.

As I write this, I realize that I’m not talking about our dreams, I’m telling our story. We have already been (and are) these things: our dream lives and real lives are not so separate.

In reality (whatever that is), the drinks may not have gone down quite so smoothly. But for us, in our childlike joy, drinking this felt just as divine.

And we still manage(d) to laugh our way through the next morning’s hangovers.

We are entwined in each other’s lives as deeply as any two people ever will be, minds melding on some ethereal plane, some place that I may not have learned to believe in had I never known you.

You have shown me how to live, laugh and love with a full heart, no matter how crazy things seem. And you do this, every day, for your husband and everyone around you.

I admire your bravery, for how you take risks like nobody’s business, for how your whip-smart wit will instantly fill a room with laughter. You are the most honest, sweet, and loving person I know, constantly challenging me to explore, create, delve into the deepest crevices of my brain and heart and palms.

This union is lights a new path, and I intend that it offers you both even more space and grace to live your dreams in every way you possibly can.

You once wrote a song for me (for us, for everyone), called Thunderbird. When I listen to it, it always makes my heart shift, because it reminds me that you know me better than probably anyone else in this world. You see inside me, and I inside you.

Sometimes (I think) you know me better than I do.

Even through my darkest hours, you still see me in flight.

I know that you will never, ever give up on me.

And so, every day, my voice grows stronger, rings truer, resonates more fully. I finally feel like I’ve found it, because you, my dearest friend, have given me the courage to sing.

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 Ed: Sara Crolick