If words could generate their own words to describe how much I️ care about Him, there would not be enough room in the dictionary to fit all of them.
I️ have avoided writing complete entries in the lovely man I’m with, but I️ figured I️ would never have enough time or capacity to explain how much he means to me.
So this is not a love letter, or a sappy heart felt diary entry (even though it very much seems like it), it’s more of a dedication, because he deserves to be noted in my life for as long as I️ live. He is a figure of my history now and I’m proud that he is.
I️ remember feeling my hands sweat the first time I️ met him, trying to keep cool and act like I️ had everything in control. Yet in the back of my head, tornados of thoughts swirled widely. It seems a life time ago that I️ met the tall, lanky young man who held open ever door, and offered to walk me to the bus every afternoon. He was a gentleman, and regardless of the amount of times he says it’s normal
I️ was never treated like that before, so subconsciously I️ believed I️ was being hit on. My insecure mind and doubts put that straight however, as I️ figured a confident, smart guy like him would never choose to be with a tiny, fragile girl like myself when there were thousands of other worthy girls with asses much larger then the amount of confidence I️ had.
I️m not sure how men’s minds work, when they see a girl that is interested do they immediately go for the catch, or do they all of a sudden find something attractive and get what they can, or maybe they are pressured to think they like what they see… whatever it was, I️ was more then surprised when I️ was the one he chose to be with…I️ was the one he saw himself with.
Today, I️ feel guilty for being who I️ am to him. He puts in so much effort for me that sometimes I️ wonder if he will regret it one day. I️ don’t love him for what he gives me, except for his attention. I️ always loved him, I️ knew that from the start, and that’s something I️ could never begin to explain.
I️ know his touch like it’s printed on my skin. Chocolate colored hair and rosy, high rounded cheeks. He’s cute when he’s insecure, or when he’s vulnerable. It’s when he’s most himself, without trying to impress me, and eagerly trying to prove he is a good partner.
I️ never fuss over him, because I️ was too easily judged before, and it sucks to be told something you believe in looks bad, or is wrong… especially when the person you expect to have the most support in you couldn’t care less.
But sometimes my simplicity emerges into a state where I can’t say anything out of the blue or at least feel odd, because I️ know he would go out of his way if he knew anything was wrong, but I️ don’t want to cause drama either. I️ simply want to react in the state I️ am in.
And sometimes his words hit the nail and that’s all I️ need to hear. His voice and corrected statements. His laugh and soft grip.
He’s everything to me when I️ think I have nothing. And I wish he could see himself through my eyes, because imperfection makes you human, and I️ am the person who lives to hear the stories of humans. I️ live to tell a story, and I’m just grateful this time I️ get to be a partof someone else’s.