The Art of Love

love

Love.

I love, love.

I am in love, and I love.

My man, loves me.

He still makes my heart skip a beat when he kisses me, or looks at me in that way.

Unfortunately, I think I am a lack-luster partner a lot of the time.   I’m usually the one screwing off while he does the responsible things around the house.  I’m usually so focused on the kids, the computer screen, or my writing that his hair could be on fire and I’d say….

“Whats that you say? You say you changed a tire?” while not even looking up.

Benign neglect- I am trying to be better about this.

I also have to admit that him loving me is also about him accommodating many of my not so endearing habits.

When we go to bed at night we usually spend some time reading, or browsing the web… grunting out a few comments here and there, and occasionally watching a show together.  Our together time usually ends when he looks over to say something handsome, wise, or thoughtful and is greeted by my innate form, eyes closed, book  or computer held in upright position, with my mouth un-glamorously gaping open, fast asleep, with perhaps a sparkle of drool in the corner.   In addition, I’ve usually piled enough books between us to rival the Great Wall of China…. just so that I have them… and yet I never seem to get around to reading them, so it’s a total joke that they are there.  If it were not for me, though, it would be highly unlikely that we would be able to locate a pen (or two)  in the middle of the night, just in case we should ever need to jot down an urgent thought, or sign a memorandum.

I’m always the one with my clothes piled all over the yummy brown leather club chair I insisted we put in our bedroom, so that we could “sit in it” and read, or maybe to use when we put on our shoes in the morning. If our closet were likened to postage stamp… I have the picture on the stamp while he kind of tries to fit his stuff inside the little borders that frame the stamp.

He puts up with these things, and never complains.  Sometimes I want him to complain… not that I could change it instantly, but it would make me feel better if he just once lost his brains and listed my shortcomings.  I’m not used to someone being so consistently lovely to me. Part of him not telling me that I need to change- keeps me from changing, and if he were to tell me to change I’d probably tell him to love me or leave me- well… probably, thats a big fat lie.  The truth is, I would immediately drop everything in my life and just focus on staying orderly so that I would be allowed to maintain my position as his woman forevermore.

I know that our love has “mellowed” over the years… it used to be white hot… now, it’s a warm, glowing, books in the bed, ball point pen lottery, clothing covered, stamp licking, hair could be on fire, kind of love.

I feel for you buddy. I do.

 

 

m4s0n501