#tjd

I’m so endlessly grateful to have a man who never lets me go a day without reminding me how beautiful I am. Or how proud he is of me. Or how much he believes in me. Who never lets me go an hour without reminding me how much he loves me.

A man who finds joy in seeing my joy. Finds pleasure in seeing my pleasure. Finds sadness in seeing my sadness.

A man who doesn’t get angry when I accidentally drop the dinner I made for us all over the floor. Who leaps to his feet and rushes me out of the kitchen so he can clean it up for me because he knows how worked up I’ll get. Who tells me to focus on making sure my favorite sweater doesn’t get stained instead. Who tells me how much he appreciates the fact that I even made dinner at all. And that he’ll make something for us. Whatever I want. As long as it makes me happy.

A man who always makes sure I have something to look forward to. So that I never give up. Ever. A man who will gladly let me lean on him when I need strength and will stand by my side when I’m strong enough to stand on my own. Just in case I ever need him at a moment’s notice.

A man who goes down the stairs first so he can turn around and make sure I get down safely. A man who can never just kiss me once. A man who doesn’t walk past where I’m sitting on the couch without kissing me on the cheek first. A man who always asks how my writing is going but never pries too much because he knows I get embarrassed.

A man who calls me his “wife” even though we aren’t married yet because he “loves saying it” and loves how my face lights up whenever I hear it. A man who wants nothing from me but my company. A man who makes it his mission to always make me laugh to the point of cackling. A man who always advocates for me. A man who is my best friend first and my lover second. A man who refuses to let the “honeymoon” phase end, even 13.5 years (to the date) later.

There’s just something about the door not even being closed all the way yet and already being pressed against it because we can’t even wait to make it to the bed. There’s just something about his hand over my mouth because he knows I’m not good at controlling my volume. There’s just something about being talked through it. There’s just something about him knowing I’m there without me having to say anything. There’s just something about him.