I think I was born in the wrong decade.

Even now in this pandemic, one issue has remained constant: the apartment needs to stay clean and organized for my sanity. I cannot fathom why it’s so hard for him to do that. I deal with people’s mess all day long. I am carrying his weight by being in the work force full time. What is it about keeping the apartment spiffy that is so hard to do?

When this is over, I will take you with me, far away from this wretched place. We will have two children, a boy and a girl, and as many dogs as you’d like. I don’t care if we travel a lot or if we travel through books. I long for the day when I don’t have to cry every time I have to go to work. We are far from perfect and we’ve hurt each other countless times over the years. None of that matters now. I am yours, and you are mine.

My home is in your arms.