A buddy of mine asked me to ghostwrite a birthday note to his wife. Here it is (with her name removed):

“Dearest A____,

I think of you always, but especially on a day such as today, when I am secretly wearing your clothes. Also, it’s your birthday. And so I write this birthday note – or more properly, have outsourced the writing of this birthday note – to express and/or have expressed for me my and/or another’s heartfelt love and esteem for you.

You are my everything. Seriously – I’ve got like a pocket knife, lint, and a few buttons otherwise. I am a bee, and you are . . whatever it is bees want. I am the inconstant and tempestuous ocean, and you are . . . the thing that makes waves happen, but a really pretty version of that thing. When I lie under the bed at night pretending to be a vampire, it is your neck I wish to bite, and your soul I wish to damn to a Hellish undeath with me. 

They say you can’t live in a day without living in all your days. And by “they” I mean Mike Hamilton. And this saying is a great comfort to me, because it’s a freaking miracle you haven’t left me yet, and when you do, part of me will still be living in each of the days that you were mine. 

Happy birthday to an amazing wife from her most unworthy husband.”