2015

The party I almost skipped

I went because Sefa promised there’d be food. There wasn’t. There was you.

2017

The flat with the broken radiator

Three jumpers indoors and somehow the happiest winter of my life.

2019

Lisbon

We got lost on purpose. You said it was the only way to see a place.

2021

The hard year

We didn’t talk much that spring. We held on anyway. I’ll never forget that you did.

2024

An ordinary Tuesday

You laughed at something on the radio and I thought: this is the whole thing. This is it.

Between the stars · a letter

My Mara,

I’m not good at this out loud, so I’m writing it where you can’t see me go red.

Ten years is a lot of ordinary mornings. Burnt toast, the radiator that never worked, you stealing the duvet like it owes you money. I wouldn’t trade a single one of them.

You’ve seen me at my smallest and decided to stay anyway. That’s the bravest thing anyone has ever done for me.

All of it, always, — Tom

A hundred would be lazy.
Here are six.

You remember how everyone takes their coffee, including people you’ve met once.
You cry at adverts and then pretend it was the onions.
You make the people around you braver. I’d know.
You dance in the kitchen when you think the curtains are closed.
You forgave me for the thing in Porto. We both know what I mean.
You still look at me like it’s October 2015.

There’s one thing I never told you

I knew on the third date. I just didn’t want to scare you off by being certain so soon.

The last star

So, after ten years —

press & hold to light it tap to light it

Our tenth year

Ten years, Mara.

A whole sky, lit one year at a time.

tap to light the first star