Tonight you worked hard and late. Our usual evening conversation was cut short by exhaustion. And that’s okay. You work entirely too hard to get by with the minimal amount of sleep you survive on.
This last week has been hell. I’m glad it’s almost over.
Tonight you reminded me of several things:
How much I love your dimples. I never thought that I could love a malformation, a shortened muscle that pulls too tightly, so much. That’s all they are, really. But yours are magical. When your lips pull back from your teeth and you give me that big smile, my heart melts. It’s second only to the sound of your laughter and the way you throw your head back and let go, those instances when your beauty is transformed into something so stunning that it’s breathtaking. I forget to breathe.
How much I love to watch you sleep, the handful of times that I’ve been privileged enough to see it. I love how you’re comfortable enough to let your guard down and dream with me. I love watching the day to day worries slip from your face as easily as I slide into a warm bath. The small frown lines that smooth out. These are the moments when I lean in and gently brush your cheek with my feather soft kisses. Not enough to disturb you, only enough that you feel it and even in your sleep, feel me enough to smile gently. I live for those unspoken moments.
How much I love waking to sunlight and your face. The warmth of the sun and your love is enough to make me want to bask in the glow forever, never getting around to all the things I have planned. In those moments I am completely filled and satiated and I want for nothing.
More so than all of those things, I love being near you. I see you so infrequently. It won’t always be this way and I know that. It’s all we have for now. I cannot wait until the mornings with you are a common occurrence. When I can open my eyes to meet yours. When I can reach out and toy with a curl that’s fallen over your forehead. When I can feel the warmth that you leave when you rise to begin your day. For the opportunity to make your breakfast. To bring you your tea. Not because I feel obligated in any way, but because I love doing things for you. A hundred small things that mean that I love you in a thousand small ways and a million large ones.
That only begins to count the ways I love you. It barely scratches the surface.
But you know that. I try to tell you a hundred times a day. You’re my everything.