One day someone is going to fall in love with the freckle on your bottom lip. If he is a poet, he will probably write odes to that freckle; if he is a shoe salesmen he may still. Or she, whatever, the point being there is a freckle on your lower lip that reminds me of hearing my favorite song on the radio while I'm driving with the windows open on a day that smells like sweet grass. Please don't grow up and wear too much lipstick.
|Last photo of 7.|
I don't know.
|First photo of 8.|
|Those are my socks.|
I love you, I love you, I love you.
Happy birthday, sweet girl.
5 (too pregnant with Ozzy to write 5)