I am convinced that the English language is limited in it’s range of available words that can be used to describe any given emotion for what it is. How intense it is. Rage, becomes ‘Blind Rage’ because rage on its own isn’t good enough.
When you look at the person you love, while they are doing something mundane, and THAT feeling that pushes past the day to day shit and the grumpy start… THAT feeling of calm that washes over you just because he is near by.
I love the way he is pedantic about his filter coffee. I love how he trundles around in the morning half asleep but will always come and kiss me before he goes… even if I am still asleep. I love how he can make me laugh even when I am in the foulest mood. And even more so, I love that he tries.
I love the random dramatic affection that happens suddenly in the middle of a movie. I love that my animals adore him. They melt when they lay on his lap.
I love that he knows me as well as he does, and how he does the maths before he says something. Even if it’s the wrong thing. I love the way he smells and the way he denies taking up two thirds of the bed gradually during the night just so he can he right up next to me.
I love that he is an independent mind and spirit and even when he needs me, he doesn’t. I love that, that makes sense.
It is intense. It is on occasion impossible to describe. And sometimes, complicated and maddening. But still so beautiful.
That feeling. It happened the first time I looked at him, shy and awkward, and it still happens now… when I look over at him washing dishes, or talking to the dogs, or making music as his head bops to the beats he has created.