letter to my husband

I love you. Those words don't sound like much, so small, and maybe they lose a little of their meaning after almost four years of saying them to each other once, twice, sometimes twenty times a day. So I want to look at them more closely, one by one. 

I: me, this girl here, that you met on Halloween... how many years ago has it been now? The red hair piled in a spiky bun, the long legs barely hidden under a plaid skirt, brown/green eyes rimmed in black. I'm the girl you flirted with for over a year, biding your time, while I watched you sheepishly, wanting to tell you what I felt. Me, the girl you told, not asked, to go on a date with you, who slept with you on day two and never left your bed. I'm the one you hurt a few months later, and who hurt you when you came back, the one who had too much champagne and made that call. I jumped out of a plane for you. I said yes, married you, moved away, held your hand through our struggles, wrapped my arm around you when you needed it, especially this past year. I adore my time with you, every minute, from working in the yard to dressing up for a ball. I give you the bigger brownie, I think of your feelings at every turn. I fit in your arms, I belong to you. And I always will.

You: you're the guy that walked through my door and took my breath away, that left me speechless from the start. Pleather pants and eyeliner, you had the guts to wear it that night. And afterwards, you would look at me and make me feel noticed, adored, and wanted, even before you called me up and told me we were going on a date, before you even knew you wanted and adored me yourself. You got scared and ran, but just for a little while, and you helped us find our way back to each other. You pushed me out of a plane and followed me down. You told me you loved me and my heart felt like it would burst. You surprised me with a ring in the parking lot, and you went on an adventure with me, hand in hand the whole way. You held me so tight when I was hurting, feeling alone, missing my grandfather. And you urge me towards my true feelings, talk to me when I need advice, listen when I need an ear. You insist I take the bigger brownie. You make me whole, you are home to me. And I trust that these things will always be.

Love: it's a difficult emotion. It can make one feel empowered, bold, and on top of the world, but at the same time reckless, brash, and insane. It can build you up and break you down all at once. Our love is steady, our love is comfortable, like a couch, a big quilt, and worn socks, snuggled up together, like a beer in your hand on a hot summer day watching the balls fly, like a Tom Petty song played on the radio right when you need it. Love means that when I cry, you comfort me, and when I win, you win with me. When you get angry, I balance you, when you need help, I'm there. These things are unconditional. It doesn't matter if you yell, it doesn't matter if I scream, if you drink too much or I cry too much. After the fog of that has lifted, we're there for each other. Everything is forgivable because everything is forgiven. I can look into your eyes and see us old together, still laughing, making kissing faces at each other across the room, rubbing our feet together under the sheets. We're still holding hands, giggling like newlyweds, connected heart and soul. That's our love.

So, I love you. Now you know what it means when I say that, all of this condensed into those three syllables, those three very large words.

I almost don't want to send this to you. I'm embarrassed by how much power you hold over me. I don't know who I am without you, and that's scary. You would never hurt me or leave me, and I have complete trust in you, but it's still scary. Me, before you... I hardly remember that girl. I feel like my life began when you walked through my apartment door that Halloween night. Sometimes I feel like a little lost puppy following you around, but then there are times I turn around, and you're there, like a little lost puppy yourself. I don't expect you to respond to me in the same way, I know that sentimentality does not mesh with your thought pattern. I expect an "I love you too" and maybe a slightly more lingering kiss tonight before you go to the baseball game. Your pizza will be waiting when you get home, kept warm for you. And I might save a cupcake for you too, if you're lucky. I know I am.