The smell of her morning breath. It’s like taking a whiff of an oddly flavored drink but somehow I like it. I get addicted to it.
Feeding each other. Not like putting her fork in my mouth, that’s stupid. It’s the act of cooking dinner together, cleaning up for her, then zoning out on the TV until I fall asleep from my food coma.
Coffee, especially in the mornings on the patio while the sprinklers spray more of the cement than it does the grass. Sharing whatever our social feeds brought in from the night before. Starting the day with laughter, or a half-asleep random comment.
Driving, anywhere; and remembering to hold her hand. And letting her play her country songs even though I don’t like them very much.
Helping, even if I’m not an expert in the field. Painting, dishes, moving crap. If I can see an opportunity to make her life easier, I will try it. Sometimes I break things on accident though. She doesn’t mind.
Sex, like the kind that keeps going to the point the sheets are sloppy wet so you peel them off to let the fan cool you down while neither of you wants to move any more until you become cold and sticky.
Skinny dipping when the AC goes out on a summer weekend.
Waking up, leaning over and kissing her back before I get out of bed.
Talking, about anything or everything. Sharing our frustrations about others, life, work, kids, ourselves. Listening.
Trying to be a better person. It’s not as easy as it sounds but I’ll try. All my mistakes were yesterday, and so were hers, so love can simply mean wanting to be together, even if you’re both crazies.
We took a break yesterday from each other. And I can’t hide how much I love her but I’m back to the point where I need to learn to love myself again.
That’s what love means to me. That’s what I’ll remember.