You love me especially different every time
You keep me on my feet happily excited
By your cologne, your hands
Your smile, your intelligence
You woo me, you court me
You tease me, you please me
You school me, give me some things to think about
Ignite me, you invite me
You co-write me, you love me
You like me, you incite me to chorus
Ooh, ooh, ooh
~ Jill Scott
"I'd do anything for you," he told me recently.
"I know this." This was my reply.
"I love you so much," his simple texts often read.
"You more" is my usual response. But it should be "I know."
Because, I do. I know. I know that he loves me. Through the look in his eyes. But especially his actions. His kind gestures that say, "I know this matters to you so I will do it." Those things that shift him away from his comfort zone and into mine. The teeny-tiny things like turning on the seat warmers in my car or picking me up some mediterranean food because he knows I love it and not caring so much that he doesn't.
I walk into the room and he says, "You okay, baby?" And he asks it like he means it. Like, if for some reason I am not okay, he will do whatever it is I ask of him to help me get okay. Which is awesome.
There are some things he's not. Like, he's not schmoozy. At all. He can be a bit of an introvert when faced with many-many people and generally won't be the one yucking it up with the boss or jumping onto the stage to belt out Marvin Gaye at the annual holiday party. His flowers are handed to me quietly on days like Tuesday and his surprise gifts on times that don't usually coincide with milestones. He is honest. The jeans that smash my butt like a pancake will be reported to me as such if I ask and fortunately not so much when I don't.
He believes in me. In this understated way, he looks at me like whatever it is I am trying to do is attainable. Or maybe even more than attainable. Like. . .I don't know. . .it's already done. He's not the guy throwing the confetti at me at the end of the half marathon. But if I asked him to do that, he would. That is, if he could tell that it was important to me. Which makes me think of another tender thing about the man I married: I often measure whether or not to tell him what I want against how seriously I want it. Why? Because he will do whatever he has to do to get it for me. Or do it for me. To help me get "okay."
His love makes me feel beautiful. I mean it. Beautiful.
Now playing on my mental iPod. . . .Jill Scott providing a perfect soundtrack to how I feel every single day that I get to be with this man. Listen and you'll feel me. He incites me to chorus. . .loudly. . . because he loves me. And you know what? I love him, too.