It seems both logical, and beyond possibility that this day is almost here. That we are paused on the front step with our fingers hovering mere inches from the doorbell. Leading up to this crescendo, I had been reassuring myself with the number of months remaining. Counting and recounting them relentlessly. Binding them up like a packet of letters. Transporting my fragile feelings in amber glass bottles to avoid degradation in sunlight. You are my first everything, and I am trying to hold this loosely, but it is so hard.