This is going to sound really sappy. But I love my wife.
I love the smell of her. I love the tone of her voice. I love her eyes, her laugh.
After 25 years, I love her more than ever.
Inside her ring, it says "Twice as Much."
Our anniversary isn't until October, but as we cuddled and watched the fireworks, I was struck by an overwhelming feeling, like when we first met. She just turned 60 years old on July 1, and I joked, "Happy Birthday, you old bat!" And she knew...she just knew....that I thought anything but that. She knew, and she laughed.
She always supports me, whether I'm right or wrong. Well, sometimes when I'm wrong she'll give me a look. And because I love her, I try to change.
She goes to the movies I like. And, I really try to fit in that sensitive movie, once in a while, I know she'll like. She thinks it's a movie I want to see.
She's got the wildest imagination, and she's the most stable, down to earth, common sense person I know.
Despite being completely incompatible, we fit. Naturally. Without effort. I used to joke that she was too perfect, that someday the 'dark side' would emerge. It never did.
She's attracted to the wild, gypsy, flamboyant and purple and outrageous people (ah, hem); who are also usually difficult and flaky (ah, hem). We laugh, and they become our friends.
There was a scene in a show we saw once, where the main character is thunderstruck by a realization:
"But that would mean you love me, more than I love you!" I remember that scene, because Linda and I looked at each other and laughed. Because, you know, we both knew. I love her twice as much. (And if she wants to contradict that, she'll have to write her own ode.)
I would just die without her. I figure if the worst happens, I'll become a lonely old hermit book-reading recluse, because no one could replace her.
And my life will always be lucky, no matter what happened before and what happens after, because I've lived 25 years with her. I got the fairy-tale, and I know it.
Told you it was sappy.
16 hours ago