mnyamata,
it's been 9 months. I'm 16 and you're 17. We've known one another since we were little. Little little. In Sunday school, when you were the angry little boy who didn't feel like he belonged and I can't remember what kind of little girl I was. You say we were friends, I say we weren't. I don't know if either of us really remember. When I was 11, you moved away. I don't remember minding much, apart from missing your sister, who was my friend. You got tall and tan and sweet. I got skinny and tall and smart. Now we're both a little chubby but I don't think either of us really care. Four years you were gone. The day you walked through the doors of my church, I was the first person to hug you. You got home June 16th. I knew I liked you on June 17th. I knew I loved you on the Fourth of July. We started dating on the 28th of July. I was your first kiss on the 18th of August. It's been 9 months. I don't care that I'm 16 and you're 17. I don't care that you're sick all the time. I don't care about anything except the moment 4 and a half years from now when I can be yours officially. I will pinky promise you all my years at the altar.

ndimakukonda