My Love.

9 Jun

Long ago, we wrote love notes. We wrote each other poems, left little hearts around, exchanged cards and poems.

Now, our love is much deeper.

We have been through the worst together, and I don’t say it enough.

I am so lucky to have a husband who brings home “just because” flowers to me.

That is nice. But that’s not really why I’m lucky.

photo 1-7

I’m lucky because I get texts like this:

photo 2When skies are gray, both literally and proverbially.

I am lucky that we can go away together for a few short days, and ride our bikes into town for homemade ice cream, and oysters, and cocktails (not in that order) and ride home, chilled, and share a glowing fire and a bubbling jacuzzi, all while singing “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” at the top of our lungs.

I’m lucky that I go to bed each night knowing that the person next to me has my back. That every time I look over at him I feel like I must have done something right in this world.

That the man whom I met when I was twenty loves me more now than he did then, even though he loved me instantly.

He is the best person I know. So good. So true. So honorable and kind and brave.

He is right; he is my rock. And I am so lucky.

I am writing this with tears streaming down my face.

I married the kindest, most loving soul.

How did I ever get so lucky?

I will never know.

But I will enjoy every second of it

for as long as we both shall live.


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