Sometimes I imagine Hitler at seven years old, a paint brush in his hand at school thinking, “What color should I paint my soul? - Andrea Gibson

There will be music for you
one day.

You are the best thing that has every happened to you.

Baby, I have no idea how this will end. Maybe the equator will fall like a hula hoop from the earth’s hips and our mouths will freeze mid-kiss on our 80th anniversary or maybe tomorrow my absolute insanity combined with the absolute obstacle course of your communication skills will leave us like a love letter in a landfill. But whatever, however, whenever this ends I want you to know that right now, I love you forever.