My husband is someone who has known me since I was a little girl, since I was 14 years old. He is my best friend, my hand holder, my hugger, my lover and my companion. He is the one who tries to understand me even when I am incomprehensible.
My husband laughs with me and at me. He sees things my way and I see things his way. We know just how to fit up against each other and to entwine our arms so we fit when we cuddle and hug. I know how he likes to cut his sandwiches, and how to fold his jeans.
I know his footsteps.
My husband is loyal to me, even when sometimes I feel like I don't deserve it. Especially when others say he shouldn't be. His love is true. Our love is true. We have been through hell and back, and sent postcards to each other along the way -- we know each other's handwriting, even when the edging of the card has been singed with hell's fire.
My husband works hard to do his best for us. To be a provider -- not just in monetary means, or in temporal means, but just with his presence. To provide with his himness. My heart beats in time with his, and our rhythm is our time together.
I love you.
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