I love the way you look when you're sleeping.
I love the way you can see the funny side of things.
and the way you laugh, and the way you sing. I love that you tell me things. I also hate that you tell me things. I hope you never stop telling me things.
I love the way you can laugh at yourself. The many ways you are smart and the countless ways you are endearingly stupid.
I love that you are hardly ever embarassed, because to laugh at one self is a true talent.
I love the way you are with your friends, they are very lucky to know you and have you in their lives. I love that they are good people.
I love the way you sing to yourself when you're playing. You don't think I can hear you but I can.
I love that you use big words in the right context. I adore the way you giggle. I love that you still wrap your arms around me and tell me you love me. In fact you all do that, like limpets - god knows where you get that from.
I love the way you understand jokes, even when I'm the only other person who does.
and I love that you also understand complex stories with enough compassion to also understand the sadness they sometimes have.
I love and hate the way you won't talk to me about sex, and I can't for the life of me talk you into it.
I think that you're a good man. That you still look after me even though I would never admit I need looking after despite the fact I wear a sandwich-board around my neck saying "hopeless when left alone to fend for self" everyday. That you think I talk sense when it's clear to everyone i don't. I love the way you'll still rub my feet even though the lawyer said you didn't have to anymore.
I love the way you don't care about me at all. The way you make me laugh, and try to help. Especially that you listen to my endless griping.
I love the way you care so much, and can out-google anyone, though you know the answer already, I suspect.
I love the way you put up with all of us, even though parts of your life must be really quite difficult. I love that we dislike almost everything the other person likes - except for the really important stuff like Pulp Fiction and playing pool.
I love the way you wear your combat boots and weave a story about safety around them, lessening your son's fears, as of course a natural father would.
I love your style. Your endless patience and forgiving nature. Your straight-from-the-hip-when-needed ness.
I love the way you love me even when i don't stay in touch. And I love the way you love me when I never leave you alone.
I love the way you're sensible and silly at the same time. That you're smarter than me by 3 miles and you notice my toes.
I love the way you let me bumb your hip and sit close and not say much. Though your Italian seems not to be your first language, it falls from your tongue like it was made expressly for that purpose.
I love that you took me to the ballet, and that you loved the same bit I did, even though I coughed through a big chunk of the quiet bit. I loved drinking with you though I didn't drink nearly enough.
I love the way you let me sleep with you, even though there wasn't much room and I'm not good at sharing.
I love the way you send me postcards, even though I never send you anything. I mean to, but I never do. Does the thought count, because if it does, it's a really big number.
I love the way you show up to tell me you're not staying.
I love the way you smile, especially if it's to see me.
I love that you are in my life.
I am a very lucky woman.