My dearest Katherine. When I first met you, everything that I owned fit neatly inside of my two backpacks. I owned two pairs of jeans, two cameras and seven shirts. I had lived in five different homes during the year before we met, and spent three months on and off the street eating second hand food and sleeping in places I’m no longer brave enough to walk through. I lived simply on this dream that someday somewhere - I’d meet you. And now, years later, I lay in bed and I can hear your breathing, and your feet are so cold yet still warmer than mine, and I feel surreal. I now own half of a couch, half of a fridge, two cars, eighty something cameras, a TV, two bikes, three books and a futon. In less than one month now, my best friend will stop being called “My Girl” and start being called “My Wife” and all of the awesome but really pointless material stuff that I’m so proud of will dither in momentous importance because all that I’ll ever really need is your hand grasping mine. I only hope that I can make you as happy as you make me.