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December 8, 2008
He’s not the type to write love letters, notes, poems, but when he looks at her, he wishes he were. She always says she hates love songs. He loves them. They laugh about this, and then say, “But I love you.” It’s one of the many little jokes they have acquired through their years together. No matter how the weeks and months turn inexorably to years, he is still delighted by her smile, the sun on her bright hair, her odd turns of phrase, the way she fits perfectly into his arms, the way she always says, “Goodnight, sweet boy.”