Most people would probably label me as a pretty enormous force. I'm brazen. I'm bold. I'm confident. I know what I want. Most people would say that I'm pretty hardcore. Most people think that there doesn't exist a man on this planet who could be more dominant than me. Most people think that I must always wear the balls, because I'm rarely caught in a dress. Most people think that I win because I can't seem to handle the notion of losing.

When I sit next to you my big giant balloon deflates and this massive wizard of oz persona shrinkwraps down to just little old me. Insecure. Quiet. Pensive. Thoughtful. Fragile. Gushy. Mushy. Sappy. Crying at the drop of a bucket. Incredibly focused on looking pretty.

It's been ten years. Ten years that I have loved you. Ten years that you've been transforming me in to this aspect of myself that I've always wanted to be. Ten years of experiencing life through the picture frame experience of your love.

It's crazy because everything is intertwined and so defined by your presence that my life is really sort of divided in two: before you and after.

I'm not afraid to be fragile, which is completely miraculous, if you know me at all. You make me bolder. You make me braver. You make me fiercer. So when the conversation comes down to whether or not I would do this all over again if I had to, the answer is always a resounding hell yes. And I know that the crap I write is sappy. I know the words I say are incredibly gushy and dramatic. I can't help it. It's not that I have anything to prove, it's that I've got something to show. I'm not so comfortable with this sensitive side of myself. I am fumbling around in confusion when I have to show the way you light up my world in front of other people.