I think he feels like home.
He refuses to compromise.
He allows and through his loving he opens even more for someone to be who they are.
He loves the clippie in my hair, right center top just to get the bangs outta my face.
I love that his hair is always a mess. It's beautiful that way.
He loves that I am messy and forgetful. He loves my purple pants.
I love the way the worn jeans fray around his old boots.
He loves eyes and smiles and he laughs.
I love those things and I love his hands.
He loves to investigate and ponder.
I love to pretend I know the answer and then watch as his face lights up and he grins at me. Shaking his head.
We love nature and water, the sand between our toes. Friends. Family. Dancing. Music. Teasing. Road trips. Rolling down the windows. Rain. Autumn. Trees. Squirrels playing in a tree. A toast to something. Hive fives. Making funny noises. Impersonations, he does the most incredible impersonations. Comfortable clothes. A large couch we lay in. Bed. Clean sheets. Pillows just the right size. Telling fairy tales and funny stories. Sharing. The excitement of a touch on the arm after being apart. The smell of sweet shrub. Peace. Calm. Respect. Honesty. Monogamy.
Home. It's good.