Staffordshire; home to the town of Lichfield, and The Three Tuns, both yours and Maisie's favourite pub, situated on the Heath. Where you had your first kiss all those years ago, back on the first Friday in June.

Nothing much has changed since then. Your hair's grown, and you and Maisie live together in your shared home now, but she's still the girl who uses make-up to hide the blush you give her, with the blush she can buy.

She's not the sort to be certain a lot, but she has no more defences. She thinks she'll be in a wedding dress pretty soon. She ran for the trenches, and there you were humming Strawberry Fields.

Maybe it's perfect, maybe it's incredibly flawed, but it doesn't matter. She's so happy. And you both have a key to your pretty little countryside house, your shelter, where birthdays are nailed to the fridge, and you might one day have some babies kicking a ball around the back garden.

Life without you, she never wants to find out. All of her future is rested on you. Her eyes won't wander, and it's her honour to be with you. Sometimes you're both scared of losing this, but you could never leave each other.

Stairwell hideouts, smiling with your eyebrows, blood moons, and the skylarks that land on the fence of your back garden. Life is perfect right now. Nice teeth, wide heart, she'll never need a hall pass.

You're in The Three Tuns now, eating lunch and drinking orange juice together: it's too early for alcohol. You'll tell nothing but the truth, and for the rest of her life, you'll get a glowing review.

"You're better than you know yourself, you know? I found you off the highest shelf, and I think I'll always feel the same way I felt when we first started dating." She tells you as she bites her chip barm.