Happy nine years to the kind of person who, after a week of making sure I'm warm, fed, in a comfortable position, not dying of a sudden, middle of the night skin sensation, not falling over, receiving adequate medical care, entertained, kept company, taking my meds on time, after driving me all over Alberta, voluntarily hanging out in one of the most depressing hospital wards ever, filling my prescriptions, talking me down from my anxieties, building a pulley system for me to get myself in and out of bed, spending hours lying next to me talking about things great and small, and deferring many of his own needs and desires because he wants me to feel as okay as possible, who after all that found the time and love and energy to make our anniversary important. I don't know if that's a "kind of person", or just this one singular person, who I've been lucky enough to spend almost a decade giggling with and who keeps insisting, despite my resistance, that love is magic, and who has all this time been proving it.
