I love you in the every day

It�s the smell of his neck, the hard lines of his back, the way his hair feels under my fingertips as he welcomes my hands grazing his skull, the way he always unbuttons his jeans to be comfortable, the way they are always sliding down his backside as he stumbles off to bed most nights, tired from working so very hard. It�s the hard work in his hands and the soft heart in his chest. It�s the way he goes to work every day, even when it�s been 50+ hours of moving other people�s lives all around town already that week. It�s the way he gently scolds me for stressing, taking personal days off, and generally being all the things I hate myself for being. It�s the way he smiles when there�s dinner. It�s the silence in how he moves closer to me when I move towards him. It�s the response to my advance and the chase when I run. It�s the impact of the who of who he is coming to the surface of the rawness of my past when I am moving through the dullness of normalcy and stop to bring his worn shirt to my face to remind myself that he is there where the blank space used to be. He is mine, he is good and he is not to be feared. It is in those inhales of the now that I find myself feeling truly the most of who I know me to be. It�s not easy or hard, it just is all that it is all by itself without worrying about holding too tight or too lose. There are faults in our lines and we do not draw them purely by him or alone by I, but sometimes the �we� of who �we� are finds mistakes we stumble through, but our straight lines run quickly to resolution and forgiveness�s. Yes, it�s the way he answer�s his phone as if he�s a hundred miles away, the way he can drink coffee black, the way he doesn�t care what other�s think and thinks less of other�s than he does of me. It�s the way he mocks my �talking to the doggie� voice and how much I love the dog and then talks his own doggie voice to the dog. It�s the love of brotherhood and the strong sense of duty to his family. It�s the way he sings out of tune as though it�s the best song in the world. It�s the way he doesn�t let me forget the things I have corrected in him when I do them incorrectly in myself. It�s the way he smiles when I join him and slouches disappointed when I don�t. It�s the way he sleeps with abandon just like children do, laid across the bed without covering up. It�s the way he tries on any pants I buy him and then walks away from me with an exaggerated hip sway when he turns to show me his ass. It�s the way he drinks from the carton, and his empty Gatorade bottles left behind. It�s the way he cleans with nothing but bleach and elbow grease. The way he moves when I touch him, the way he touches my face. It�s the complexity of the simple things, the things that I surely overlooked before I really knew what love was, before him that is to put it simply.