This isn’t a love song. Once upon a time I sang in choirs and even sang solo but those days are long past. I don’t really sing anymore. I’m no longer a first soprano, I’m like a mezzo soprano or maybe even an alto. I don’t know, but singing isn’t my gift anymore.
I don’t express gratitude enough but today I’ll try.
This man loves me, and cares for me like no other. He does a million little things and everything and its things I could do for myself but life is certainly easier with his help.
This man supports my dreams and cheers for me when I have no voice left to cheer for myself. He holds my head up for me on days I don’t feel proud. He sits with me when I can’t sleep and stands with me when I feel weak.
This man knows my secrets and loves me anyways. This man knows my stories but listens anyways. This man feeds my body, my heart and my soul with his kindness and gentleness.
He makes me laugh, especially at myself, which is when it’s most needed. He has a sense of adventure and wonder I don’t possess and he sees me from angles I don’t find flattering and still tells me that I’m beautiful.
This isn’t a love song, because I can’t really sing, but I can write and I can try and I can say “I love you” every day and every night. I’m lucky to be able to and thankful for this man who looks at me like I hung the moon even after I’ve failed to hang my clothes up for the millionth time. I don’t know what I did to deserve him, but I’m sure thankful I have him. This isn’t a love song, but I love him.