In the night, my back to yours. You lift your arm and spread it across me, and it is a comfort. We find each other in the mountain of blankets, in the middle of your king bed. Through heartbreak, through hardships, you have held me close in the dark when I couldn’t see what would be coming next.
Love is a choice. A choice to make yourself vulnerable. I disagree when people say it is a sacrifice. In my opinion, true love doesn’t demand. It is something that grows from within, something small that takes root and encompasses all your other actions. An action that might have been a sacrifice once no longer is, when done in an act of love.
I give up on flashy love in favour for the quieter understated love that drives a man to move his king sized bed just in case the crumbly ceiling gives way and falls on his partner. It’s not a love that movies are written about – although the Theory of Everything does come close – but it is a more real love, it is a more genuine love than big declarations of love with no substance to back it up.
It’s not a super-exciting love, but it is something real, something solid that I can count on. It doesn’t keep count of wrongs, it grows as we make mistakes. You’re patient when I do stupid things, we laugh at each other and the only thing we really compete at is Sunny Seeds. Because love is a choice to live each tedious moment out, to hold your partner’s hand out of habit, to kiss for hours in the morning despite morning breath.
You have loved me beyond what I dreamt of, and I have loved you as my man. Happy Valentine’s Day, and here’s to happiness for us both.