Chapter 14
Dear Easton,
Five years, baby.
I say “I love you” plenty. You hear it every day, and sometimes I worry it’s just words floating into the air, easy to say but not enough to capture everything I feel.
I’m not a lyricist like you, so this is my attempt to put what I feel for you into words, even though I know words will never be enough.
I don’t think you’ll ever know how much you’ve changed my life.
I grew up bouncing from foster home to foster home.
Always moving. Always trying to prove I was good enough before getting tossed to the next place, the next family, the next person who might want me to stay.
I learned early that permanence was a myth.
Love was conditional. Trust was fragile. Safety was temporary.
And then I met you... And somehow, without trying to, without saying a single word about it, you gave me a family.
Even if it’s just us and your bandmates, even if it’s unconventional and messy, it’s real.
It’s steady. It’s permanent. You make me feel like I belong—not just a place to live, but somewhere in the world. In your heart.
You’ve given me a life I never could have dreamed of.
A home that’s ours, with walls I get to decorate, rooms that hold our laughter and late-night talks.
Vacations to places I never thought I’d see, experiences that make me feel like we’re living in a world too beautiful to believe.
Clothes, cars, and little luxuries I didn’t dare imagine for myself.
And yes, they’re all really nice. But it’s not the house, or the vacations, or the things.
It’s the love. It’s the certainty. It’s knowing that, no matter what the world throws at us, we have this.
We have each other. And I’ve never had anything like that before.
It’s the way you look at me, like I’m the only person who matters.
It’s the way your hand finds mine, even in a crowd.
It’s the way you listen, really listen, when I talk, when I’m nervous, and when I’m dreaming out loud.
It’s how you show up, every day, in ways huge and tiny, reminding me I’m not just part of your life—I’m central to it.
And that certainty, that unwavering devotion, has changed me.
I feel safe in ways I never thought I could.
I feel worthy in ways I never thought I’d be. I feel… whole.
I love our life together. I love the chaos of tour, the sleepless nights, the cities whose names I can’t keep track of.
I love curling up in our Brentwood home on days we actually get to breathe, making coffee in the kitchen, laughing at stupid jokes, and watching reruns we’ve seen a hundred times but somehow can’t stop viewing again.
I love the spontaneity, the adventures, and the music that runs through every corner of our lives.
I love the quiet moments almost as much as the grand ones…
the whispered words in bed, the soft touches as we fall asleep, and even the way you hum while you make breakfast.
You’ve given me stability and chaos, excitement and peace, love and devotion.
You’ve given me a life where I feel like I belong, where I feel seen, where I feel loved for every part of me.
And I can’t imagine a day without it. I don’t want to imagine a day without it.
I don’t just love you—I love the life we’ve built, the future we’re creating, the tiny universe we’ve made together that exists just for us.
So, yes, I say “I love you” all the time. But after five years together, I need you to know those three words don’t nearly encompass what my heart feels for you.
I love you in ways I’ve never loved anyone.
I love you for who you are, for who we are together, for the family you’ve given me, for the certainty you’ve created, and for the life we’re living.
I love you for the way you’ve transformed the girl, who once thought love was fleeting, into a woman who knows it can be steady, true, and unshakable.
I love us, Easton. And I always will.