When you look at me, I know what love is. I don’t worry about time. Past or present. And the future is a dream waiting to happen.
When I look at you and see you looking at me, I know love is real. And it’s more than the fluttering in my heart. Or the smile I can’t help but give you…though those things are all a part of this thing called love.
When you hold me tight against you, in the kitchen or the hall or the middle of a crowded store, I realize love is not finite. It is not stagnant. It is not some over-used expression that has lost all meaning.
knowing no matter what, it’ll be ok.
feeling at home wherever I am with you.
wondering if tomorrow will be as fantastic as today
learning that indeed it is.
Love, my love, is you.
It’s you when you rub my back late at night because my body is acting all weird and I don’t know what else will make it right. Love is you kissing my forehead when I say I’m sorry but I just can’t go out because my head is betraying me and hurts too bad. It’s knowing you aren’t mad at me for my health that I cannot change (though I wish so much I could). That you simply want to be there to do whatever I ask in hopes I might feel slightly better. It’s you, every day you can, bringing lunch home to share with me. It’s you always wanting to hold my hand. Always wanting to spend time with me but ready to let me have my space, too. It’s you jumping out of a sound sleep in the middle of the night because my dog is having a seizure and you don’t want me to face it alone. It’s you calling my dog stinkerboo and taking her out at 7 a.m. so I don’t have to.
Love, my love, is us.
It’s us when we dissolve into laughter and giggles at something no one else would likely understand. It’s us when we think the same thing about where to go, what to eat or what to do. It’s us slow dancing in the living room with Daisy watching, because the song that’s playing reminds us of us. It’s us when we stop in the middle of the aisle at Target and share a sweet kiss because something we see reminds us of how lucky we are to have us. To be us. It’s us when we talk about what might be. What we want it to be. What we have always feared and how we’ll face those fears together. It’s us in a brand new relationship that somehow seems to have always been and us that we can’t fathom not being us anymore.
Love, my love, is me.
It’s me when I am at work and can’t stop smiling. It’s me trying to figure out how to give back to you 1/10th of what you’ve given me. It’s me walking past Coal Fire Pizza and having to stop because I remember the first time I saw you through the glass and my heart jumped knowing it had found home. It’s me dumping a whole bowl of frozen yogurt on my lap because I can scarcely believe that someone like you wants to spend time with me.
Love, my love, is ours.
It’s ours to decide how real it is…not the naysayers who might think it’s too soon or too fast or too anything other than what we feel. It’s ours to determine what path it will take and at what speed. It’s ours. And as unique as you are. And as unique as I am. Our love is ours uniquely. Ours to color in, sing along with, drink to and revel in.
Love, my love, is…
every action we make.
every word we speak.
every hope we hold on to.
And, my love, it is all I have to give you. I could list all the “ifs” and “buts” that keep me from giving more. I could list all the things I saw and wanted to get you.
Except…I know you know. And I know you understand.
And I know you love me all the same.
And that is all I could really ask for from you.