I worked, took pictures of the sky, etc. Blah blah, the usual agony of work. I shopped for some things at the store. I went home. My wife absolutely beamed at me when I came in. That alone made my day…but that wasn’t all.
After I put the groceries away, I walked into the living room where my wife sat smiling at me on the couch. She kissed me and said ‘go look on the table’. I was expecting bills or other bad news, since that’s where the mail goes… but there was the composition book. My heart raced. I shifted expectations – she wants to write with me! That alone made my day… but that wasn’t all.
I opened it up, and the entire page was filled with wonderful words, in a poem that was also a letter to me. It was incredible, and I was floored. I nearly smiled my head in half, and I ran over to her and hugged her mightily and kissed her and told her I loved her forever, and I loved the poem, and I am so in love with her. She said she was just thinking about me today, and just felt like telling me in a poem. She asked if it was too corny. I was swallowing tears. I was choked up at how much I was in love with another human being, so wonderful and amazing, and… corny? No. It’s perfect, I said. And I’ve never been more in love with you in my life, I also said.
This is the part where I might post the poem. But I’m not going to now. It will either go on Romantic Monday, or not at all. It is precious and beautiful. It’s sweet and moving. Trust me on this. I love my wife with every part of me, with everything I have. And every day, she does something else that makes me love her more.
I just read it again. I jump up and pull her up and hug her tight. I just read it again, I say. I still love it. I love you so much. It’s just a little thing, she says. No, I say. It’s a big thing. It’s huge. I love you. I’ll always love you.
What are the bad times in the title? Leaving her to go to work. Being away from her. Missing her all day long. Taking out my phone just to look at her picture. Our flirty text conversations that make me smile, but remind me I’m not near her. Hours are like days. But then I come home, and everything is right with the world, with her in my arms again. Our flirtations become verbal, whispered and spoken, and nonverbal, looked and touched and kissed. We sat in each other’s arms on the couch, sipped some wine, and watched some whatever. There are no bad times here.