It was all the little things. The crusts on my bread, the need to know I’ve had water, had food. It was the forehead kisses and light touches, the smiles he threw me when I tried to piss him off. It’s the attention and care he provides, the softness I see in him when he’s trying to hide it behind a wall of violence. It’s him in his entirety, the hard, brutal parts of him, the dominant possessive edges that have been softened by the way he cares for those close to him. It’s his laughter with the boys and his mischievous, playful grins. Fuck. I’m falling in love with my husband.
