I love that you remember what I said three Tuesdays ago. It's an unfair superpower.
New Wishes
A handful of wishes pulled from the cabinet this morning. Pick one up — copy, save it to your pinboard, or send it on.
If love is a language, you're my most fluent translator.
I love you — that's the whole message, in any tense you want it.
You're the soft place I keep returning to, even in my own head.
I love the way you laugh in old photos. I love the way you laugh now.
Sending love — please sign for it. The package is heavier than it looks.
What are we writing today?
Cabinets sorted by occasion. Open one — pages are arranged by warmth, not algorithm.
- Anniversary
- Baby
- Belated
- Best
- Birthday
- Boy
- Boyfriend
- Christian
- Christmas
- Congratulation
- Diwali
- Easter
- Eid Mubarak
- Engagement
- Farewell
- Fathers Day
- Friendship
- Funny
- Get Well
- Girl
- Girlfriend
- Good Morning
- Good Night
- Graduation
- Hanukkah
- Heart Touching
- Holiday
- Invitation
- Job
- Love
- Miss You
- Mothers Day
- New Year
- Recovery
- Retirement
- Romantic
- Thank You
- Thanksgiving
- Wedding
- Well
- Women's Day
- Sympathy
- Valentine's Day
- Halloween
- Veterans Day
I love you the way books love readers — quietly, patiently, glad to be opened.
You're the reason I now believe in the long version of everything.
I love how you make small joys feel like national holidays.
If love is verbs, you've conjugated all of mine.
You're my favorite text I keep waiting to receive.
I love the look you get when you almost remember a word — the room gets warmer.
You make me kinder, calmer, slightly braver. The triangle of you.
Love note: you, comma, always.
I love your taste in mornings, in songs, in how-much-sugar.
You're my favorite category of news.
I love how love behaves when it's near you. It learns better manners.
Sending you a love message disguised as a Tuesday — please accept the delivery.
I love you. There. That's the entire essay; the rest is footnotes.
Happy New Year, my love — let's spend another twelve months building small, good things together.
May 2024 bring us slower mornings and louder, better laughter.
To us, in any year — same teammate, same favorite voice, more chapters.
New year, same hand to hold across the table.
Wishing you a year where your phone is quieter and your kitchen is louder.
Happy New Year — let's keep being the most boring, happiest couple at the party.