The date you can see coming a year away — and still nearly miss.
An anniversary collects more of a life than any other day — the wedding, every year since, and everything you never quite said out loud about either. A card holds one sentence of that. A page holds the rest, and keeps counting after you hit send.
Add the date and the counter starts from it — years, months, days, seconds, moving while they read. Photos from the wedding nobody sat down at. The words you’d say if the two of you ever said such things.
Templates that suit it
You still laugh at my parallel parking. Fair trade.
Gold leaf and dates worth engraving. The counter keeps counting.
Nine and a half hours apart, on the same page.
For love that lives between two stations. Both clocks, on the page.
One thing, said properly. That’s the whole page.
Free, and small on purpose. One thing, done properly.