Love is the fact that you refer to any meal with beef and lettuce as a “taco salad.” Love is you always letting me hog the best blanket. Love is episode upon episode of Walking Dead contemplating how you would handle a zombie apocalypse.
Love is you always knowing when I need you to hold my hand. Love is writing in our feelings book every single night, and you secretly enjoying it. Love is listening to me explain the ins and outs of intellectual property to you, and you feigning interest. Love is waking up in the middle of the night and moving the dog because you know he is about three centimeters away from suffocating me.
Love is the smile on your face that only I get to see. Love is the way your eyes light up when I mention something slightly inappropriate. Love is you keeping your shirt on even though you have the body of a Spartan. Love is you waiting to correct my deadlift form until after the workout. Love is driving me the two miles to work when it is too cold for me to comfortably walk. Love is eating every single one of my Paleo creations, no matter how foul or disgusting they may be.
Love is telling me when I’m being selfish, even though you know how defensive I will get. Love is missing you when I’m away. Love is you telling me that we will get through brain surgery together, even though its not your brain they are operating on. Love is Old San Juan. Love is you spotting my ring pull ups, even when I’m sweaty.
Love is coming to church with me, even though you aren’t Catholic. Love is listening to my family tell the same stories over and over again. Love is reading my articles, even if they are about my ex-boyfriends. Love is sharing headbands. Love is doing what I ask of you, but not always when I ask it. Love is remembering to leave the leash for the dog when you leave to train on Saturday mornings.
Love is the small things. The everyday reminders of exactly what it is we are fighting for; because what love isn’t, is easy.