I love you.

I wish I could tell you how much I love you but I can never seem to find the words that equate to the things I feel. This isn’t a Valentine’s Day post – the timing is coincidental at best. To say that I love you more than I have ever loved anyone would be inaccurate. I have come to the recent conclusion that we never love one person more than another, but the way that we love people is different.

Maybe my heart didn’t know yet, but my soul did the day you said “what are you sorry for?” And you said it again and again in different ways until I believed it. You are the calm in my storm even when I feel like a tornado meets a hurricane.

Maybe it’s different because I’m working on myself. No, I’m sure it’s different because I’m learning how to ask for what I need. Still not that great at it, but definitely better than before. You drive three hours to come see me (even though YOU moved three hours away – still salty about that!). You packed my toothbrush. It seems like such a silly thing, but it would have been so easy for you to toss it away. Instead you intentionally put it in a box or a bag or your pocket or whatever and you drove it 200 miles and then unpacked it. Intentionally. You put it on your bathroom sink in the same spot it was 200 miles ago and my heart was so full of joy when I saw that. You packed my toothbrush. It was literally the simplest thing, but you have no idea how much that meant to me (even though I know I told you when I was drunk).

I love the way that you get so excited over things that I think are vaguely humorous. You will laugh your heart out and it’s so pure when you do. You’re like this little kid at Christmas with the things you enjoy and it makes me so happy to see you laugh. I hate video game scenes that play forever and a day, but I love watching you watch them.

That date at Lucky’s…I loved that. I’ll spare the world the details, but the way you looked at me that night is something I will always remember. I hope you keep looking at me like that until we’re eighty. Or ninety. Or a hundred and five.

You sat with me in the vet’s office when I had to put Bear down and then you helped me bury him. You made me coffee when my grandma died and let me wear your t-shirt.

I love the way you stay close to me at night and hold my hand in public for more than 2.2 seconds.  I like that you smack me on the ass and I absolutely fucking love that when I ask you to kiss me like you mean it, you do.

I was so grateful the night that you came after me when I was upset. Being overwhelmed sucks. A lot. But you didn’t let me walk away alone.

I love the way that you are mindful and kind and for some reason, it always surprises me, but in the same way that someone might be delighted to get birthday cake unexpectedly. I know that you are good – it’s not that I expect you will not be mindful and kind, it’s just that the reminders make the sun a little brighter.

 

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