I don't know when it happened, exactly, but it did. And I fell. Hard. Like hearts and giggles and love notes written on college-ruled paper. Somewhere in the eight years of loving you, I fell in love. So in love I noticed life couldn't be lived without you, so when you proposed on that beach in Laguna, I said yes. Because I couldn't live without you.

Five years ago today, I married you. And, sweet lord, did I love you something fierce. Now that I write this, I'm trying to remember when I fell in love, exactly. Perhaps it was when…
…you came to my high school to watch me cheer at a basketball game and watched me from the side of your brown eyes.
…you bought me the Boyz II Men cd for Christmas back in 1997.
…you left me–and my broken heart–for college, promising to call when you could.
…Thanksgiving came around and you took me to the Observatory and promised me the stars, sun, and moon.
…grandma needed groceries, so you stole her list and surprised her with her favorite brand of rice and beans.
…you stayed up with me all night helping me study for my E.U. Econ final so I could get the A I wanted.
…you sat next to my mom in her wheelchair at college graduation, waving your arms when summa cum laude was announced.
…picked me up when I quit Nordstrom. And bought me a jade ring to remind me to never do something I don't love.
…visited me when I took that waitressing job slingin' ribs and counting tips at the end of long nights.
…quizzed me for the LSAT.
…took me out for dinner when I decided to attend UCLA Law School.
…listened patiently when I called every day and cried. Dang, why couldn't I make friends?
…held my hand when I had to buy mom a hat to cover her bald, chemo head on Mother's Day.
…you promised to love me forever in Hawaii and sealed it with a kiss.
…bought me my first camera and said to fail at something I loved.
…we argued over the frozen corn I wanted to make for Thanksgiving. I still think it's totally acceptable.
…gave me Polo because I was so lonely.
…we toasted after booking our first wedding.
…we moved from our tiny apartment because I told you I couldn't work in between to the stove and front door.
…you laid out towels and we read under the New Zealand sun, promising to never forget what life feels like.
…you forced me to wear a two-piece bathing suit. In public. In spite of my unrelenting insecurities.
…you designated certain nights in the month to watch the sun set.
…you reminded me to never back away from the person God created me to be.

Five years ago today, I was the luckiest girl in the world because that was the day I was able to call you mine. All mine. And when I think back to that day, I realize being in love with you wasn't a derivative of a single moment, but, rather, a series of moments strung together like salt water pearls. Thank you for loving me in ways I can't possibly understand.

Happy Anniversary, my love.