I can be a carefree child.
A heartbroken, doe-eyed teenager.
A jaded successful professional.
With you I’m 6 and running wild with inappropriate jokes, giggling til my abs hurt and cheeks burn.
With you I’m 15 and crying about why boys don’t value my attention, listening to your wisdom til my eyes dry and frown wavers.
With you I’m 29 and distilling what it takes to break the glass ceiling, discussing goals for the future til we gulp down single malt misery that we’re losing time as it catches up faster and faster year over year.
With you I’m 6, 15, and 29.
With you I am every age of myself and every facade of who I am. You’ve peeled every layer, knocked down the sturdiest walls, and embraced every molecule that is my being.
With you is who I choose to turn 72 with. This is where I want to be, because only with you am I all these ages and more.