Driving home from an early Valentine’s Day dinner with Spencer in D.C. last night, I shared with him a truth: I’m more myself with him, this man it took me years to find, than anyone else I’ve ever met.
It’s been a long road to get here.
But I got here.
We can say Valentine’s Day is silly, manufactured, artificial; we can say it’s all hype and no substance, a ploy by “greeting card companies” to rake in the dough (and they do). But at its heart is a real sentiment: expressing affection for those we love.
And me? I’m in love.
I wouldn’t write anything on a blog that I wouldn’t tell Spencer myself, either in a car or on a Metro train or in a card or together at dinner. So here’s what I’d tell him now, and every day:
Thank you for finding me when I wasn’t sure I could be found. For your endless support, encouragement and thoughtfulness, and the way you make me feel treasured and safe. “Lucky” isn’t the right word to accurately explain how I feel for having met you, and I’m grateful every day to have you in my life.
Thanks for being a man I’m happy to call mine.
And happy Valentine’s Day to you, my friends, and everyone you hold safe in your heart.