Thank you for these past three wonderful years, my darling. So much has changed for us since those three years have passed. I lived in Scotland, you lived in student digs in Paris. I barely spoke French and your English was broken. We spent hours on the phone, talking, sharing our deepest thoughts 1000 kilometres from one another. Both desperately awaiting my permanent move to France, which didn't come until a year and a half later.
I flew to France one week after you told me you loved me. I needed to know if it was true. I needed to look into your eyes as you said it. You didn't even need to say it, when I arrived at the airport and you folded me into your arms, both of us nervous, I just knew you loved me as I did you. I fainted in your student apartment corridor, you helped me up, told me it was okay, that I didn't have to be embarrassed. You made me drink a glass of orange juice and sugar, to get my sugar level back to normal after my lips had turned blue. I looked up at you at that moment and I knew you were the one.
When we fell in love, I was sick. I told you that no one knew what was wrong with me, that I might never recover and on the other side of the computer, you cried for me. In our first week together I showed you my bald patches of where the chemotherapy drugs had caused me to lose my hair. You showed me your bald patch that you've had since birth, smiled and said I was the most beautiful girl you'd ever seen. You listened to me on the phone when I was having a bad day, sobbing and saying stupid things: things about wanting to die. You came to hospital appointments with me when you were in Scotland, you sat by my bedside as the intravenous drips pored poison into my veins. You held me in your arms when I was ready to give it all up and you told me things would get better. I didn't believe you. Or maybe, deep down, I did because something stopped me from giving up. I guess I didn't give up because you didn't give up on me.
After I was diagnosed with and cured of TB, our moment had come. I moved to France and moved in with you and your parents. It lasted a month. We needed to have our own space, our own little apartment. We moved to Versailles and, despite having prepared myself for moments of homesickness, it never came. I was happy in France and I was happy with you.
And then you asked me to marry you. It hadn't come out of the blue. We'd both discussed it, I'd often asked you when you were going to hurry up and ask me, and you often told me it was only a matter of time. You planned to ask me on Christmas day, but a few days before, you couldn't keep it a secret anymore and you let it slip. I was the happiest girl alive.
And now here we are, 3 years into our relationship. Next year, we will be married, and our anniversary will change date to June. We've never managed to properly celebrate our anniversary because it's 2 days after your birthday, so the change will give us that opportunity. We didn't even manage to get each other presents this year, but I just want you to know that you are the best thing that ever happened to me, FP. And I cannot wait to become your wife.
Loving you forever and ever Amen,
Your girl xxxx
Saturday, August 29, 2009