My dearest James Peter,
First of all, thank you for coming to my life to save me from my past, even if my past was as horrible as Captain Hammer. Thank you for loving me for who I was, for who I am now and for who I will be in the next years of our lives. Sorry if I cannot write romantically as you do in English since you know I only write and speak when I am frustrated, but now I’m not frustrated at all—I am in love. (insert Goosebumps here.)
Thank you for introducing me to your family and friends; it really boosted my self-esteem. It made me feel you were proud to have me. Thank you for a lot of things you had given me and for spoiling me yet at the same time removing the materialistic attitude I inherited.
Thank you for saying “you’re beautiful” every single day of my life, and for singing “just the way you are” every time I feel so insecure. In that way, you have helped me overcome my BDD somehow. Thank you for helping me recover from bulimia, and for trying to make your own pick-up lines just to make me laugh.
Thank you for teaching me how to play minesweeper, and how to play my favorite piano piece. I apologize I cannot teach you how to play the guitar since Maki is no longer in my hands.
I’m sorry for the times I became immature, if there were. Sorry if you had to adjust to the devastating events of my life, and I really want to keep you for this.
I’m sorry for lying that I’d be in school today. I just want to surprise you. Yes, I’ll see you soon.
You’ve once told me, our imperfections made us perfect for each other. And yes my dearest sir, we are.
Now, we are in this part of our lives where we celebrate our one year of togetherness, though I know that we still have a lot of years to celebrate. Still, this one’s special.
Yes, I am broadcasting this to all even though I am not the kind of person who would do this. I love you. I love your eyes that you say scare people. But please be proud of them; they are the eyes our children will inherit. I love your silence, your voice, your cheeks, your nose—I love everything about you.
I love so much that I will be leaving already to see you this lunch, leaving this note incomplete for I have not yet even said half of what I feel for you. Happy one year, my dearest sir.
P.S. You, together with the English majors, have the freedom to correct this trying-hard-to-write-like-you note.