Hey Love

You are equivalent to

No bake cakes and cupcakes. Or easy bake cookie mix or brownie mix. Or even pancake or waffle mix. Especially when filled with melted chocolate. No, actually, you are everything chocolate filled. Or coated. But not only chocolates. You are also marshmallows. Especially when they're roasted. Melted. And in a sandwich. Or on a hot coco. Or just plain mallows. Or plain coco. Or just about anything sweet. Better to say... you are equivalent to an endless dessert buffet.


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You are equivalent to

The perfect breakfast table. Served on bed. Which SHOULD have most, if not all of these. Soft boiled eggs or sunny-side-ups, that are cooked to PERFECTION. Fried rice. Overcooked hotdogs and sausages on butter. Bacon. Toasted bread, that has spent 2 or 3 minutes longer than expected in the toaster. Mango jam and cream cheese. Or pancakes and honey. And I SHAN'T ever forget. Brewed coffee, with the right amount milk and syrup.


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You are equivalent to

Guitars. Strumming and plucking. Crazy dancing. Funny faces. Mitch Albom books. Esp Tuesdays with Morrie and The Time Keeper. Sundays on a library. Smell and crisp of old books. JASON MRAZ songs. Jason Mraz himself. Photography. Esp making bokeh and long exposure lights. Arts and crafts. Watercolor. Hand painting. Childhood memories. Losing weight. Shopping hauls. Greece. Paris. Japan. Sleeping in a forest. Riding unicorns. Finding the end of a rainbow.


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You are equivalent to

All the things I love and had loved. All the things I dream and dreamt for. All the things I was, am, will be. You are in everywhere I find delight. More than everything I care for. Even more than all the love I had and have for the world.


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Thank you for choosing me. I don't deserve you. I had taken you for granted. I still do that from time to time. Unintentionally if I may add. But nevertheless, as painful as every other disappointments I had given you. But...

Thank you for staying.


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You care. Sometimes too much for my own good. You give in to my obsessions over little stupid unnecessary things. You make it your goal to make me happy. To keep me happy.

You understand. You listen. You forgive. Which seems to be important, given all those times I decided to be stupid.

You understand. You accept.

You fought for us. You protect. You are my blanket. You make me stronger. I feel safe when I'm with you. You make me feel dependent. To your scent. To hugging your arms. To stolen kisses. To your love. To every bit of your being. And I'm ok with that. I'm ok with feeling incomplete without you. Of feeling blue when you're not around. Of always looking for you. To always ask. To always want. To always need. I can live without you, but I won't be complete. I won't be happy. Bec you made me love you. You made me fall deep. And thank you for that.


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I love you. And your silly dance. You don't know how to dance. You have two left feet. And your arms are like twigs. Your hips, your body a trunk. But it's ok. Bec you dance with happiness. You dance with delight. You make me laugh. You know you'll make me laugh. So you ignore and let go and be crazy, and you dance to make me laugh.

I love you. And your out-of-tune singing. You sing like you dance. But it's ok. Bec you sing to serenade. Or to put me to sleep. Or to let me know how you feel. And it's a great feeling you're giving me. Every time you sing, you make me feel loved. And then, I'd fall deeper in love.

I love you. And your cooking. And the pride you have when or from cooking. Esp when it's too much. Which is ok. Bec I love to see you happy. That smile you make when you make something. To that smile you make when I taste it and say yum. I love your cooking. I love that you put love when cooking. I love that you cook for us. I love that you love cooking for us.

I love you. And your WWE obsession. Esp when you try the moves yourself. You memorize the songs. And I find that funny. And silly. And cute. I love you being funny, silly, and cute.

I love you. And you being such a fan of The Rock. And Jackie Chan.

I love you. And your silence. And the fact that you're loud when with me. I love how that proves how comfortable you are around me. I love it when people ask how we talk. How we discuss things. How we agree on things. How you speak. How I listen. How I speak. How you listen. They believe you do the hearing, and I'm the only one doing the talking. I love it when I tell them you're funny. You're crazy. And I love it more when they don't believe. When they can't believe. I love how it makes me realize, how "MINE" you are. I love our inside jokes. Those that no one else can understand. Just us. Like having secret meaning and codes. I love that secrecy we share. As selfish as it sounds, I own you. And your secret world.

I love you. And your hair. Your 'I wake up with this mess' type of hair. Sexy. Messy. Sexy.

I love you. And your forehead. Your cheekbones. Your jawline. Your nose. The bridge of your nose. I love how it always reminds me of Superman. I find you so handsome.

I love you. And you being picky over everything. Clothes. Shoes. Everything. I love it more that you adjusted when we became us. You let me buy you thrifted stuff. You let me choose your shoes. You let me do the shopping. You let me decorate you. Which is another thing I love and I enjoy doing. Bec, I would repeat myself, I find you so dang handsome.

I love you. And that you are smart. That story your classmates were calling you 'Mr. Perfect'. Bec apparently, you scored 100% on all tests. Esp Math. Which made me love you more. Bec I love Math. And it's no surprise I fell in love and married a Math wiz.

I love you. And our story. How it began. The first time I saw you at school. You were a stranger then, but it didn't stop me from looking. Probably too much. For no reason. I love how it ACTUALLY began. I walked in the room. I saw you and remembered you from school. I smiled bec I remembered your face. And right there and then, I had you. You fell in love. I love how romantic that sounds. I love how cliche-y that sounds. How 'chick flick'-y that sounds. And I love that we have that story to share to the kids. To hold on to when things get difficult{er}.

I love you. Your every bit. Physical or not. Just everything about you. Everything that makes you you.

I am in so much love with you. Up to the tiniest possible detail of being you.


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I don't want to sound cliche-y. I don't want to overdo it. I DEFINITELY don't want to understate. How to perfectly describe this relationship?

Feel loved. In love. Share love. Give love. Receive love. Feel loved. In love. Share love. Give love. Receive love. Feel loved. In love. Share love. Give love. Receive love. Feel loved.