Here's to you.

We were sitting on your porch one day. Remember? You told me if I ever had a blog, you would read it. I laughed quietly and swore to myself I never would. 

Well.

Someday, if you ever read this blog, 

This one is for you. 

Here's to you.

Here is to thick, creamy, raspberry milkshakes. Here is to the first letter I ever received; five pages of left slanted handwriting.  Here is to cuts on fingers, the warmth of your eyes, that night in the rain, a first beautiful, crooked smile on a yellow school bus. Here is to the boy in red vans, a mouth full of snickers, finding the courage to say hello. Here is to not feeling the rain as it fell onto us that night, to our first slow dance. Here is to every post of every American Fork High School girl that has written about you.  Here is to the metallic smell of two empty swings, the pressure of your fingers pressing gently into my hand as you processed information, to full moons, and 11:11. Here is to "what do you want?", "can i ask you a question?", "tell me a secret", "you feel like home"and "I will always come back, I promise." Here is to the missionaries, the two brothers that left their legacy for us. Here is to braces, and and growing up together; learning from each other. Here is to the twenty eighth, the twenty first, and March the fourteenth.  Here is to knowing every detail of ones soul one day,  and pretending you have never met them the next. Here is to the white house with the wrap around porch that will never be sold,  to the freckle right underneath your eye, the one on your arm, and my desperate attempts to count the ones on your fingers. Here is to nine crimes. Here is to the first time you ever hugged me, it took three months, remember? Here is to Abby, Jeremy, and Ema. Here is to your testimony of the Gospel of Jesus Christ through your example.  Here is to sunrises, sunsets, and talking until five in the morning. Here is to Oakland's silly face he made, to Madison running to greet me in the front yard.  Here is to kisses that mean something, taking a nap in a field, and a river in the canyon on a hot summer day. Here is to a library, with oak floors, thick rugs, warm reading lamps, and a window seat facing the sunset. Here is to people being worth more than what they wear. Here is to otter pops, hot fudge sunday poptars, blue gatorade, cowtails, lemon yogurt, and scraping barbeque for 7:25 an hour. Here is to the boy that taught me to slow down, to appreciate every little thing along the path,who taught me how to love.

Here is to not forgetting, but letting go, and moving on.
Here is to saving that small part of your heart. 

Here is to acting like it never happened.

Here is so saying hello in the hall.

Here is to falling in love when you are young, fearing absolutely nothing, diving in head first, and following your heart.
Here is to being willing to do anything for one person.
Here is to him not deserving you at your best, when he can't handle you at your worst.
Here is to building your foundation on what matters most.

Here is to the boy that deserves somebody, someday to match his socks, to wake up with him in the mornings before he leaves to work, to give him an attacking hug when he walks in the door, to make sure he wears thick wool socks and drinks lots of orange juice when he is sick. 

Here is to her, I am happy for her, and happy for him.

I really am.

I am happy for me, and feel blessed and grateful to be me.

Here is to Saint George with the girls this weekend, taking time to heal, allowing yourself to feel things, escaping another world through the pages of a familiar book, Young Women's modest fashion show projects, summertime, incredible friends, long trips, and my family.

Good Luck boy in the red vans,
thank you for being a part of my story.