There's a line in Bridget Jones' Diary when the offending mother begs forgiveness from her cuckolded husband. Heart broken, tears welling in his eyes, he concedes, "Silly Cow, I just don't work without you."
In our case, sweetheart, this happens to be literally true.
I love that my heart still skips a beat whenever I see you.
I love watching you sleep because I know at one time your broken heart wouldn't let you.
We share hashtags no-one else gets. You send me dog videos on Facebook. And after 25 years you still leave your clothes on the floor (in the beginning this was charming, then annoying, and has cycled round to charming again).
I love that you sing "Hen. On. Pills." to the tune of Duran Duran's "Girls on Film."
I love your voice, your Scottish talent and that your heart is in Jerusalem.
I love that you always, always, always do the right thing. (Except for that one time.)
I am grateful you call me every day, hold me every day and forgive me every day. You are my person, my wolf, my beaver.
You are the reason I pee.
Happy birthday, Kevin.