The love of my life is tall.
His body is solid, but gives just enough for me to lay down my head and sink into his chest.
His arms hold our babies. His mustache and beard tickles their sweet faces.
His hair is short and soft, his eyes deep and piercing.
His lips are plump and his nose is perfect.
He has a few freckles but he won’t admit it.
He likes to joke, and has a loud laugh.
He is playful and witty, sarcastic in fact.
He loves the outdoors, and manly sports.
He is a bit of a perfectionist and likes to keep his things neat.
He is generous, and trusting, and always provides.
He works hard to make sure he takes care of us all.
He is steady, responsible, and consistent.
He is calm but easily provoked.
Sometimes I think the love of my life has OCD.
He tells me to turn off the lights when I’m not in a room.
Or close the window as soon as the air conditioner turns on.
Makes fun of my parking and the way that I drive.
But he doesn’t give up on me now matter how horrible I am.
He will love me forever, he says, and always be there.
He provides and protects, and always comes home.
He makes sure we have the best of everything we need.
He takes his mom out to lunch and never forgets his brothers’ birthdays.
He brings me flowers on Mother’s Day, and takes me out to dinner on our Anniversary.
He goes above and beyond for our daughters’ birthdays.
He is stable and constant, reliable always.
The love of my life is tall and has a lot to bear.
But he carries it with grace. I don’t think he’s aware.
He’s tall, and he’s steady, and his shoulder is rest for my weary head.
He is a husband, a father, a son, and a brother.
He is comfort, he is home, he is safety.
He is the love of my life.