But that's not why I'm writing this entry.
A love knot.
Growing up in rural Kentucky, we relied heavily on wood-fueled heat. Every autumn, my brothers and I would head into the forests with my dad to cut and split wood for burning. Knots in wood are the bane of any would-be tree cutter; they dull saws and defy axes. They are virtually impenetrable and can only be cut around, but not cut out. In lumber, knots are what give furnishings character and distinction. This is how I feel about my knot. It has become inseparable from me and defines me.
I love you Erin. Daily I find myself dumbfounded with the immeasurable happiness you bring me. I'm the luckiest guy in the world and only getting luckier.
← Ctrl ← Alt
Ctrl → Alt →
← Ctrl ← Alt
Ctrl → Alt →