When I first saw you with that cheesy neon blue hair of yours, I had an odd feeling.

Of course, I've had odd feelings before - and after - that day. I've had them when I've been walking down the street and I have looked into some stranger's eyes the exact moment he has looked into mine. I have imagined myself in so many arms I have lost count and I don't even know how to dream about people anymore. Over the years I have lost my hope, too.
But against all odds, and against all the dismissing I have been doing for these odd feelings that have been proven wrong over the years - you stayed. You stayed, and to this very day I can't - for the love of God - figure out how or why.
And now it's been almost three years since I met you, and you sent me a message at 23.09, a single picture, nothing else - you've got engaged.
I still remember how hard you were crushing on him a few years back; you spoke about him like you were captain Ahab and he was Moby-Dick - the way I used to talk about Colleen in my diary entries and book drafts. You told me about the day you met each other over some stupid forum, and I had the honor to witness you two meeting, falling in love - and before I knew it, we were at a trashy fast food drive-in diner and I was just watching you two drinking milkshakes and laughing at some jokes I could never make sense of.
After Colleen I didn't think I could ever heal. But you came along, stuck around and showed me, that even the worst infection can heal over time. I'd be lying if I said I'm there, but I'd be underestimating myself if I'd say that's impossible to achieve.
We've both had our fair shares of totally unfair (insert something similar to poop here) in this life, and I swear to God and Heaven and everything that could be above or below me, I will never screw this up like I did all those times before. I won't. A year ago I'd say that I don't want it to happen because I would never hurt you. Now I am ready to say that I'd never want to hurt myself, either.
You know how much we both love you, I hope,
Aga