He brings me flowers for no reason.
He makes me laugh until I cry. Until I SOB. And I still have giggles trapped in me.
He holds me tighter in the car when we make turns, or stop short.
He dances with me any where, any place. Music or no.
He packs my lunches in the morning and puts them into my Tinkerbell lunchbox, with no sense of irony.
He does the laundry, every week. And never complains about the five flights of stairs he has to climb, or my exorbitant amount of dirty clothes.
He does the dishes.
He squeezes my knee under the table when he knows I find something someone said hurtful.
He knows all my favorite artists, even if they're not his.
He hides notes in my purse telling me he loves me.
He's been to Disney World at least four times in the last couple years, and enjoys it, because my parents and I enjoy it.
He always gets a taxi when I'm tired, even though it's a waste of money.
He never makes me feel like the things I want are a waste of money - even though sometimes they are.
He buys me things like flour sifters and never makes fun of how excited I get.
He never gets sick of me being sick - and pushes me always to never let it hold me back.
He's passionate about whom and what he loves. (Which actualizes many episodes of quiet brewing and yelling at the TV.)
But if I interrupt him during such an episode, he always smiles at me.
He accepts my limitations without diappointment, and plans amazing things for us to do regardless.
Our children will have the most beautiful eyes. And astonishing smiles.
He believes I'm beautiful and makes me feel that it might be true.
He loves my family like they're his own, blood and found.
He takes me to ballgames and always offers to buy me a sundae-in-a-helmet.
When people ask me what I do and I answer with my day job, he always adds "painter."
Every day is like this.
And this.
And this.
And I always feel like this.
I never wanted to be a wife.
Now I know it wasn't that, I just always wanted to be his wife.
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