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  • When I pick up his shirt, the sleeves are rolled up, and as I search his pocket for Kleenex (knowing he might forget) and unroll his sleeves, I smile, and fall in love again with him.

    The feeling overcomes me and it makes my heart glow and swell with tenderness and compassion; it makes my groin throb like a teenager, my juices flowing like a ripe berry; it puts a smile to my lips and makes me want to hum a love sonnet. It is a special feeling called ‘love.’

    But, it isn’t the ordinary things that one would find associated with the word ‘love’ that makes me feel this way.

    It isn’t the way he tells me to take it easy and relax, but it is part of my love for him

    It isn’t the fact that he makes me feel loved, by the gentleness of his spirit, but it is part of my love for him

    It isn’t the joint bank account to make me feel secure financially, but it is part of my love for him.

    It isn’t the hug in the evening and the good-bye kiss in the morning on his way to work, but it is part of my love for him

    It isn’t the unnoticeable ability of his to overcome my shortcomings, my sloppiness, my incompleteness, but it is part of my love for him.
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