I always feel the need to commemorate anniversaries with essays waxing poetic about years gone by. Then I start writing and it takes off in an entirely different direction that I never intended and I end up scrapping the whole thing.
Three years ago today Bob and I got married.
He is my best friend.
He is my saving grace.
I love him more than I ever thought it was possible to love another human being.
Every single day I am with him, I feel so unfathomably lucky to have him.
Tonight we are 950 miles from home.
My ridiculously fantastic husband is indulging my crazy and we are in Denver because I had a completely insane notion that I needed to see Train (and Andy Grammer—let’s not pretend this wasn’t the deciding factor here) in concert when they played on our anniversary.
I couldn’t bring myself to brave the State Fair on Labor Day last year when they were here, but apparently I can drive 900-some miles to see them in another state with little hesitation.
Or maybe I have finally, officially cracked.
I’ll let you know when we get home.
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Hey Mama Mat Kearney |