He holds me whenever I ask him to, and thinks my whining is cute. (WHaa? How did I score that?) He lets me put my cold feet on him and tolerates my childish requests to “go see Christmas” at the mall before Thanksgiving. He lets me hog the blankets. He lets me pout. He lets me be weird beyond all reason.
Trying to describe how I feel about this man is mostly just frustrating, because I can’t ever get it right. I can only talk about the late night pillow-talk, heart-melting texts, the comfort of knowing he is always there to support me in my latest insanity. I can only write over and over again wimpy exclamations of “eek!” and “aggh” to try to mirror the flips my insides still do when he’s around. I can only shudder with chills of bliss when I get to show him off to other people.
He surprises me with clean dishes and lets me turn the heat on even though I am ridiculous and refuse to wear socks. He tells me I look pretty when I wake up. Even with my breath bad and my clothes a-craze and my hair a nest of weirdness he looks me in my sleepy eyes and tells me he loves me and that I’m his favorite.
Someday, I’ll find a way to tell you how much you mean to me, Jared Schultz.
I’m forever in debt to God and the universe for somehow landing me the incredible gig of being yours for always.
