No one's ever had me, not like you...

I’ve always been overly obsessed with words. I’m sure it started at the ripe age of six, with first-grade vocabulary words on my kitchen refrigerator for the Friday spelling test. Something so seemingly small weighs heavily on me now, as I try to put the introduction to the best love story I’ve ever been a part of into words. Bear with me—and my words, which can mean so little compared to the human whose actions mean the world to me. I recall the Friday after Thanksgiving in 2022, tucked in bed, calling it an early night, when I somehow got persuaded to slip into a baggy pair of jeans and a cozy sweater. I tied up my dirty white high-top Converse and put my hair in a low ponytail, pulling some pieces to frame my face. If you know, you know, this was out of the ordinary for me—at the time, and definitely now. I vividly remember drifting through the early chapters of 23 by pairing the unknown with Taylor Swift’s most recent release, Midnights. “Anti-Hero” was the number one song on this very date. Fittingly, I played it on TouchTunes and set my phone up to record myself singing it loudly in the bar, holding a girlfriend’s hand and liquid courage in the other. Someone suggested we send it to Coleman’s Authentic Irish Pub. It was nearing Midnight. This is a great idea for people who enjoy sticky floors, loud and muffled live music, and cos-playing as sardines in a tin. I am not this person, but on this very night, I was. Until I wasn’t. My time at Coleman’s was short-lived. It was exactly as I recalled—not my scene. I tried to convince a few of my friends to get in the Uber I ordered and escape before my buzz wore off. Trying to get your high school guy friends into an Uber in a timely manner is like herding cats, so I headed toward the white sign with glowing red letters on my own. The door was in sight; I was just a few steps from my getaway car when I spotted a man whose very presence stopped me in my tracks. I could have sworn I’d seen his face before—I wanted to call it a prophetic vision, but it turned out to be just an Instagram story from a shared gym. I had to think quickly—how do I get his attention? Quick it was! I launched at him full force, enough to make him hover over a complete downfall toward the ground. Unbeknownst to me, he was quick and nimble—he caught himself, stood up, and apologized, dismissing me as swiftly as it had happened. Let’s try this again. I saw the Uber app pulled up on his phone as I simultaneously blurted, “Where are you going?” To my disappointment, he said, “Home.” So I did what any rational girl would do and invited him into my Uber. He did what any rational guy would do and agreed without knowing a thing besides my first name. I made it quite easy for John Sherlock. I went to his house that night and, well, I still haven’t left. I quickly established a drawer for my things, and John simply made do with the space he was given… and taken. One drawer became two, his space became ours, and home began to look a lot like him. John and I spent our first winter together falling in love on Fridays at nice dinners, Saturdays on the couch, and Sundays at the local diner. As winter started to fade, our spring was already filled with “I love you’s” and “What time will you be home?” To be clear, I was the one saying those things. We’ll keep some of our favorite moments to ourselves, sprinkling little Easter eggs as the day of our holy matrimony draws near. You unfortunately got assigned the English teacher as the love storyteller, but if King had it his way, it would read something like: “It started on a Wednesday when I shot my first deer and then I met Frencesca on a Friday.” Seemingly a man of few long and meaningful words, the sweet nothings in each year’s birthday cards to me prove otherwise. They say a picture is worth a thousand words, but mine like to compete. I hope you enjoy a glimpse into our love story. We are so happy to celebrate with all of our loved ones. See you August 1, 2026.