Sometimes I just look at him and wonder... how is he still loving me like this?
I annoy him. I say things I don’t mean when I’m angry; words that sting, that hurt and that shouldn’t be said. I can be sarcastic, sharp, even mean. Not in front of people, but when it's just us... I brush off his seriousness, roll my eyes when he explains things. I know I hurt him sometimes. Not intentionally, but carelessly. And yet… he's still here.
Still loving me.
Still holding my hand. Still making sure I’ve eaten. Still standing beside me- not just in good ones but even in sad and messy ones. Still sleeping on arguments, just to wake up and be the first to talk, the first to compromise. Still choosing “us” over winning. Every time.
I don’t know how he does it. I don’t know what I did to deserve that kind of love.
No one’s ever loved me the way he does. So patiently, so completely. The kind of love that shows up every day — in the small things, in the quiet ways. In the way he sees me, even when I’m not at my best… and stays.
I used to think love had to be dramatic. One that should challenge me, keep me on my toes. But now, being with him, I’ve realised something softer, deeper; that real love is steady. It's safe. It forgives. It chooses you, again and again, even when you’re not easy to love.
He makes me feel like I’m enough. He completes me. Not because I’m lacking, but because of who I am. And somehow, just by being him, he’s made me better. More self-aware. More grateful. More in love with the life.
He’s not just mine. He’s my home. And that’s something I never want to lose.
