Definition:To to be by your own. We

Definition:To My Dearest,    As I’m writing jumbled words that’s going on in my mind, not sure if it will make a difference someway, somehow, I started to think of you. In a way, I’m always thinking of you. But today is different. I’m thinking of everything we’ve been through—what we lost, what we have, what we’re going to go through together in the future… In the sixty years that I’ve known you, in the forty years that I’ve loved you, I’m still trying to define love.    I have read many definitions of this word, my dearest. But I still cannot choose the right one that describes you and I and what we have. So I will make my own definition of this word that people have been trying to define over the years.     I never really paid attention to you when we were younger. I just know that there’s a really short girl with big dark eyes living in the house beside ours. Your mother and mine called each other best of friends, so when our mothers talk about what they hate in our small neighborhood, you were always there too—hiding behind your mother while holding a doll that’s almost your size. I remembered that we talked once, when I called your doll hideous. You cried and hit me. I cried and told my mom. (My love, I felt embarrassed thinking about it again but it was a fun memory too.)    When we were seven and you tripped and fell causing people to look at you, I purposely made myself trip and fell too. I didn’t know what I was doing then, but I don’t want you to be by your own. We looked like idiots in the middle of the streets and people were looking at us both and I started to get really embarrassed. But then, you started to laugh really loudly before you started to bawl your eyes out. I laughed and cried with you until our mothers both picked us up, a little shy from creating a big scene in a little neighborhood. That was the moment I realized that I wanted to be your friend.    We were eleven when my father died. I haven’t eaten in days, and I couldn’t feel anything. Mama was telling me that it will be okay, but I know that it’s not going to be the same anymore. But you approached me with your ponytails and glasses that almost covered your entire face. You told me stories and jokes and you tried so hard to make me laugh. And then you snorted so loud that it made me laugh so much. I laughed like I never did before. That was the moment that I realized that I want to laugh with you like that—like I could handle anything when I’m with you. We were just eleven that time. Imagine.We went to school together, we rode the same bus, we ate the same packed lunch, and we even have the same notebook design. I know how you like boiled eggs more than fried, how you prefer mangoes more than oranges, how you hate matching socks and how you prefer tee shirts more than fancy dresses plus everything that could possibly be known about you.     When we started high school, your glasses have to go away. You told me the news that you’re going to use contact lenses soon. I teased you that you’re going to look ugly anyway, but you just stuck your tongue at me as if you didn’t care. You were so sure that you’re going to look pretty with contact lenses as if you weren’t with glasses on.     But then, high school started and nobody noticed how you changed your glasses. You bawled your eyes at me when we got home. I bought you ice cream after, and you became okay. How cute is that? High school was harsh to you with their definition of what pretty must look like but my darling, for me, you are and will always put the word pretty to shame.     Love is when we were tired but kept on going on because we both know that we can’t live without each other. Love is when you forgave me when I continued to disappoint you. I love you when you pushed me away, and I love you just the same when you came back. Love is when I saw you down the aisle, walking towards me with a smile on your face. You looked like the most beautiful woman that will ever walk the Earth, my love. Love is how you take your coffee each morning, your hair in a mess and drools in your lips, with exactly three packs of sugar because you love sweets. Love is when you lost in video games and playfully pretended to be mad at me just so you can win the next round. Love is when we found out that you were carrying a new life birthed from our love. Love is when I held your hands when you gave birth to our first born, and to our next, and to our last. Love was holding their tiny hands and knowing that they were made from us—from our memories and our hardships, and all the things that we’ve been through. Love is seeing them grow up with you as their mother. Love is seeing you beside me every single day first thing in the morning, and seeing your smiling face when I close my eyes.I’ve read a lot of things about the definition of love but the only thing I came up with was you, my love, and all the memories we shared—the bad ones and the best. I love you with every fiber of my being and with all the cells that I’m made of. I love you, darling. Happy 30th anniversary! I know how much you love long letters but this is the longest that I can make with my trembling hands (I’ll make sure to write something longer on my 707th letter). I know you’ll understand. You’ve been tolerating me for years now. I hope you continue to do so. I love you, and will always do.                            Your husband of 30 years and more,                                    Uriel