8 years and 1 month ago (or so) I met this handsome fellah (ha!) when he subletted my roommate's (and his cousin's) room for the summer. He played guitar, had long-ish hair, and introduced me to Emo music.
8 years ago and 2 days ago (or so), we had a bit too much to drink and had a bit too much fun, and we un-offically started our life together.
(romantic I know.)
8 years later (or so), we're parents to one fun little boy (and soon to be a fun little maybe-girl), adults, in debt, wrinklier, more experienced, maybe more mature, and still in love.
We haven't been perfect to each other over the past near-decade; we've argued, bickered, nagged, judged, and gotten mad at each other...but we've also talked, laughed, been silly, been silent, mended, fixed, built and dreamed together.
I don't give him nearly all the praise and attention he deserves, but I do tell myself every single day how incredibly lucky I am that he rented that room for the summer and that he has been so loyal and caring to me for these past 8 years.