If you are reading this, you already know it: I left you a letter behind a question, because the things I want to say deserve at least one small road to walk down first.

Here is a secret. I wrote this on a desk that looks exactly like this one — the lamp too warm, the keyboard too loud, the room too quiet at 1 a.m. Somewhere in that quiet I stopped being clever and just wrote the truth.

The truth is simple: you make ordinary days feel like a song I don't want to skip. A drive with no destination is my favourite place, as long as you're in the passenger seat picking the playlist.

So when the year gets loud, come back to this room. The screen will still be on, the kettle will still be warm, and this letter will still say the same thing:

Happy birthday, ty. Thank you for being my favourite person to come home to.