Dear Johnathan

I love you.
I really, really do.
I love the way you smell like sexy peanut butter when you're running on day old deodorant.
I love the way you smell like home when you're fresh from the shower.
I love the way I can breathe you in on my skin, your pillow, our bedding, after you leave for work in the morning.
I love the way our smells mingle and mix and dance with one another to make something deliciously us.
I love the way your hand feels on the small of my back.
I love the way your fingers feel as they trace a patch of skin
I love the way you make all of my nerve endings stand at attention, and beg for it.
I love the way your lips graze mine
I love that reassuring kiss on my forehead that spins the world around and makes everything feel safe.
I love the tightness of your grasp when our fingers interlock
I love your lips in all their curvy, juicy, deliciousness.
I love the dents, speckles, freckles, and moles that make your landscape uniquely you
I love the way your hair falls in your face
I love the innocence you seem to have right after you shave.
I love looking in your eyes and seeing forever
I love that you are mine, no matter how frustrated you make me
I love that you look at the world with the wisdom of an elder simultaneously with the naivety of a child.

I love you. No matter how many times I might feel unsure, no matter how many times I'll yell the contrary. I love you completely, utterly, ridiculously, childishly, always. You are my forever, you are my one and only. You. Y-O-U. It's said too much perhaps, to really have true meaning. You tell me you love me to try and kill an argument, to try and soften the blow as you beg for forgiveness for another of your mistakes. So, it may very well be that all of the above doesn't have the impact that it should. But...

I love you.
I really, really do.