Why do I love him?
He has unquestionable intelligence, a mind as sharp as a scalpel, capable of generating acerbic wit, astounding thesis’ or delicate, overwhelmingly beautiful poetry with seemingly equal ease.
He beats me - ME - at scrabble, and I love him for that.
He has a heart so immense, so open, so splendidly stunning. It’s humbling to be in the presence of a human soul capable of giving so much, easily, unconditionally and without any restraint. He forgives and overlooks, even when his heart gets trampled on or his soul gets shredded. He sees only the good in the most horrid of persons. He finds entirely logical defences and redeeming qualities in liars, cheaters and people with truly ugly characters. How can I not love him for that?
I love him because he uses words like “nickers” and “flat” and “lift” and “bonnet”, and quotes me in kilometers and Celsius and kilograms, even though it’s foreign to him. He does this so to not put me through the hassle of having to Google how many kilograms make 180 pounds. It delights me.
I love him for not cursing when I’m around. For treating me like a lady. For being a gentleman.
I love him for the dimple on the side of his face, his widow’s peak and little freckles all over his body. I love him for his brown eyes, his mouth, his soft hair and his hands. I love him for his sexy legs, his bum and I even love him for his funny accent.
I love him for picking me up when I’m down, for defending me, for sticking with me when I’m less than excellent.
I love him for making me laugh every day.
I love him for the way he makes love to me. With such abundance, openly, sexily, tenderly, passionately, lovingly, wildly, crazily, gently, hard, but always without secrets or restraint, without holding back, just him, his soul exposed. I love him for trusting me enough to be vulnerable. I love him for giving me unbelievable orgasms. I love him for making me lust after him constantly.
I love him for thinking I’m the most beautiful woman in the world.
I love him for constantly wanting to better himself. This man, who is well on his way to becoming a doctor, is never content being average. He works constantly on every aspect of his life.
I love his hunger for learning.
I love that he loves his family. I love that he says his mother is incredibly beautiful.
I love him for making his voice soft and gentle whenever he speaks to me, for calling me “Love” and “Angel” and just accepting whenever I call him silly love names like “Schnookims”.
I love that he accepts my lame taste in music.
I love him for loving me the way he does. For believing that this is the most important thing he ever felt.
I love him for him.
He beats me - ME - at scrabble, and I love him for that.
He has a heart so immense, so open, so splendidly stunning. It’s humbling to be in the presence of a human soul capable of giving so much, easily, unconditionally and without any restraint. He forgives and overlooks, even when his heart gets trampled on or his soul gets shredded. He sees only the good in the most horrid of persons. He finds entirely logical defences and redeeming qualities in liars, cheaters and people with truly ugly characters. How can I not love him for that?
I love him because he uses words like “nickers” and “flat” and “lift” and “bonnet”, and quotes me in kilometers and Celsius and kilograms, even though it’s foreign to him. He does this so to not put me through the hassle of having to Google how many kilograms make 180 pounds. It delights me.
I love him for not cursing when I’m around. For treating me like a lady. For being a gentleman.
I love him for the dimple on the side of his face, his widow’s peak and little freckles all over his body. I love him for his brown eyes, his mouth, his soft hair and his hands. I love him for his sexy legs, his bum and I even love him for his funny accent.
I love him for picking me up when I’m down, for defending me, for sticking with me when I’m less than excellent.
I love him for making me laugh every day.
I love him for the way he makes love to me. With such abundance, openly, sexily, tenderly, passionately, lovingly, wildly, crazily, gently, hard, but always without secrets or restraint, without holding back, just him, his soul exposed. I love him for trusting me enough to be vulnerable. I love him for giving me unbelievable orgasms. I love him for making me lust after him constantly.
I love him for thinking I’m the most beautiful woman in the world.
I love him for constantly wanting to better himself. This man, who is well on his way to becoming a doctor, is never content being average. He works constantly on every aspect of his life.
I love his hunger for learning.
I love that he loves his family. I love that he says his mother is incredibly beautiful.
I love him for making his voice soft and gentle whenever he speaks to me, for calling me “Love” and “Angel” and just accepting whenever I call him silly love names like “Schnookims”.
I love that he accepts my lame taste in music.
I love him for loving me the way he does. For believing that this is the most important thing he ever felt.
I love him for him.