Two years ago I said "Sure, why not?" (no, really, we said that) when asked if I would take a certain man to be my lawfully wedded husband.
We've been together for five years, married for two. He is still my best friend. He still drives me crazy. He still makes me angry. He still makes me look at the world differently. He still makes me want to scream and rant and sometimes want to give up. But he still makes me want to hang on and work through it and realize that I've never loved anyone the way I love him. Even when he makes me angry. Even when I want to give up. Even when I think "I can't possibly take anymore."
Love isn't perfect. Love is not always kind. Love is not always gentle. Love is not always blind.
Sometimes love is cleaning up vomit. Sometimes love is fighting and clashing and still holding each other after you're done saying what you need to say. Sometimes love isn't love at all, but crosses over that ever so thin line of hate and then crosses back over, shaken by what it found on the other side of that boundary. Sometimes love is saying you are sorry, over and over and over again.
And it is all worth it, even if it doesn't always last. It is always worth all the effort you put into it. I have not regretted marrying you, Donnie. Sometimes I question "Why?" But I have never regretted it.
I regret that there are only so many days in a single lifetime to spend with you. I regret that eventually we'll be separated by this thing called Death.
I love you, dear one. Despite everything else. Despite ourselves. I love you.
We've been together for five years, married for two. He is still my best friend. He still drives me crazy. He still makes me angry. He still makes me look at the world differently. He still makes me want to scream and rant and sometimes want to give up. But he still makes me want to hang on and work through it and realize that I've never loved anyone the way I love him. Even when he makes me angry. Even when I want to give up. Even when I think "I can't possibly take anymore."
Love isn't perfect. Love is not always kind. Love is not always gentle. Love is not always blind.
Sometimes love is cleaning up vomit. Sometimes love is fighting and clashing and still holding each other after you're done saying what you need to say. Sometimes love isn't love at all, but crosses over that ever so thin line of hate and then crosses back over, shaken by what it found on the other side of that boundary. Sometimes love is saying you are sorry, over and over and over again.
And it is all worth it, even if it doesn't always last. It is always worth all the effort you put into it. I have not regretted marrying you, Donnie. Sometimes I question "Why?" But I have never regretted it.
I regret that there are only so many days in a single lifetime to spend with you. I regret that eventually we'll be separated by this thing called Death.
I love you, dear one. Despite everything else. Despite ourselves. I love you.
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