Eight years

Eight years.

That’s almost a decade.  That’s closer to ten years than to five. When I was sixteen, eight years was half of my life, and when I was eight, well – eight years was everything.

Depending on what you’re measuring, eight years can be a small eternity (if you spend it all in college), or no time at all (for living, say, it isn’t nearly enough). But when you’re counting the years spent married to a wonderful man, eight is a beautiful number.

(Of course, I do hope the numbers keep climbing.)

Happy Anniversary, Mr. Mitch! You’re the bestest.

(Photo credit: Ben Bender)


One thought on “Eight years

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