I love that you are an artist.
I love that you give a shit about the people in your life.
I love that you still do the things people like to say are “just a phase”.
I love that lay in the grass without fear of ants.
I love that are driven.
I love that you are passionate.
I love that you pick flowers from the yard and put them on the table.
I love your stirfry, GODDAMN it’s good.
I love that you’re willing to look out for me when I forget to look out for myself.
I love your dimples.
I love that you dance.
I love that you teach as well as learn.
I love your family.
I love that you love mine.
I love holding your hand.
I love it when you touch my hair the way that you do.
I love it that you waited until I was out of the room to dump that overly-sugared coffee I made down the drain.
I love that you will slay giant cockroaches with your shoe even though you are just as grossed out by them as me.
I love that you trust me enough to let me cut your hair (which looks GREAT by the way)
I love that you know how to throw a party.
I love that you’re not at all a jerk, but you still have a spine and will stand up for things.
I love your shoulders.
I love your razor sharp wit AND your grandfather jokes.
I love how deeply you value vegetables.
I love that you appreciate critical analysis just as much as fart jokes.
I love your hand on my back.
I love your dedication.
I love that when you say you’ll be in touch, you get in touch.
I love the way you present yourself to the world.
I love that you never seemed to let the distance be an issue.
I love that you’re brave enough to leave everything, move around the world and try things out with me.

I love that despite how crazy it seemed, we were right.