He loves me......REALLY!!

I know that he really must love me. After all, he does put up with my crap. And he washed my dishes last night. Maybe not such a big deal to some, but to me it is. Let me set the scene up for you. Dirty dishes overflowing the sink and nearby counters. Dishes that have been there for over a week. With food, in an apartment that has had the heater on this past week. My son's dirty dishes. Milk leftover in cups, left to spoil. And he beared it all. Washed a sinkful of dishes while I made "dinner" for us. I laughed as he made silly faces. The smell emanating from my sink was horrifying. I was gagging and I wasn't even washing the dishes. I know, I know. Ya'll must think "Wow, she's really nasty!". But believe me, I'm not. It's just I would much rather clean the bathroom (i.e. the toilet) with a toothbrush than wash dishes. So they tend to get a little out of hand. Out of all the housework that I love to do, folding laundry and washing dishes are the worst for me. It's like torture to me. That's why my clothes is always a mess, since I never fold them, and my dishes are always disgusting...because I never wash them. So, yes. I know he really does love me. If he could do that, with a sickly grin on his face and not complain about it...well, then...that's good. Now, if he can only make me clean up all my dishes everynight so they don't get out of control! We'll see. I know he really loves me, by the things he endures for me.

He talks to me. I love that! We can actually talk about anything and everything. Honestly, bluntly. I love it. I have never had so much freedom with words as I have with him. He listens to me. Non-judmental listening. It's very endearing, and if I may say....addicting. I love that he talks to me. Talks to me about anything he can. I like that I can make him feel free to tell me whatever he wants to, without me overreacting (even though I do get jealous!). When I ask, "What are you thinking?" he answers me truthfully. He is everything I could have hoped for and more. He laughs with me, and puts up with all my weird ideas and random musings about everything. He doesn't make me feel pressured to be something that I am not. For the first time in my life, I can actually be me. Completely. Just as I am, and he accepts it. I know he really loves me, by the way he listens to me.

He looks into me. Not at me. There's a difference, you see! He looks into my eyes. And I can see him trying to memorize every crease, blemish, mole and pore on my face. He loves my smile (goofy looking as it is!), and loves me. He makes me feel beautiful, even when I am in a dirty t-shirt, sweatpants, and got "raccoon-eyes". He doesn't point out my flaws and makes me feel insecure. He touches my face as if it were silk. He caresses my skin when we kiss. He looks into my eyes when we talk. His eyes dance with mine, when we sit there and don't say anything. He knows exactly how to make my knees buckle and my heart race. All this with a simple look from him. I know that he loves me, just by the way he looks at me.