Love is taking turns all night with the sick child.
Love is knowing when not to say a word, especially "I told you so."
Love is cooking the calimari you can't stand because the other person loves it.
Love is checking the front door again even though its the fourth time you asked.
Love is Thanksgiving with your family and Christmas with mine.
Love is two sets of towels/book shelves/kitchen tools because you each like things a certain way.
Love is every compromise, every gift, every thoughtful thing.
Love is preferring to be together in bad times to being apart in good times.
I think you got to the heart of what love is about, especially cooking calimari! Seriously, that last line is what brings the poem home. Lovely.
ReplyDeleteThanks Beth. My husband hates calimari, but once a year or so he makes a big batch and freezes it up in little single servings. If that's not love I don't kmow what is.
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