35… I met you when you were a wee 27 year old, Still very much a girl, in a unhappy marriage, looking to spread her wings, but hadn’t figured out how yet. Now you’re a confident, beautiful woman, who knows more about herself and her self-worth than ever. You are the rockstar underneath I always knew you were. The depth of you soul is reflected in your eyes, which I can still see in my mind. You’re not perfect, but your flaws are getting smoother with time. How ironic it would be if you moved to the states for your new beau. All that all over again, but maybe the second time’s the charm. You taught me a lot believe it or not; much of which I only understood retrospectively, so I owe you a thank you. You made me a better person. I’m grateful that you are in this world and that we had the chance to love. I could have done without all the hurt and longing that went with it, but I’d never take it back. I hope you’re out toasting some drinks, shaking your ass on the dance floor, and ringing in 35 like you did the night I carried you from a party in the freezing cold on your birthday a few years back. That was a wild night. Good times. I’m long since past all the anguish and hurt and hope you are too. Happy birthday, Erin. I will never not love you.