Loved

This morning I took my boyfriend and his friend to the airport at 4:30am. I sat groggily at the wheel, trying not to wake up too much so that it would be easy to slip back into sleep once I was back home, and he alternately rubbed my knee and folded the stray lock of hair behind my right ear. I felt loved.

Two days ago, I complained bitterly about my latest work injustice over Pad See Ew, and he listened. Then he got genuinely incensed about what was happening. It was nice to have someone care so much in an involved way. I felt loved.

Earlier this week we fought over where to go on our upcoming weekend away, and I got mad because I was afraid that his current trip was overriding the plans that we had already made. We sat tensely across the dinner table for a few minutes, and he ignored his burger while I picked at mine. I glanced up for a second to a weird look on his face. "What?" I asked gingerly, not sure if his look was mad or tender. "I just don't know how you can eat that burger with mustard and mayo on it. It's gross." Then he slathered about half a cup of ketchup on his own. We laughed at our standard burger debate and moved on. I felt loved.

This is the man in my life. He is not perfect. He is kind, and funny, and cuddly. He has his issues. I have mine. But we never have trouble finding things to talk about, and after eight months together my tummy still flutters with excitement when I see a new email from him in my inbox. We love each other. And that feels really amazing.