When I think about He and I, a goofy gratitude shines out of my pores and lights up the space I am occupying. It isn’t intentional. My cynical self frowns at me, even though a genuine smile betrays it anyway.

He makes me feel comfort. Driving us the hour to visit his family, holding my hand in the living room for everyone to see while his mother and I talk and talk and talk.

He makes me feel considered, when he drops a space heater off in my bedroom so I won’t be too cold in these freezing temperatures.

He makes me feel loved, through words, and gestures, and sticky pink love post-its covering my wall. Through the way he looks at me.

He makes me feel supported, for the first time like I have a real partner, instead of putting my energy into someone else’s life, we cheerlead for each other.

There is safety and excitement and a seemingly endless void of comfortable wonderful ahead.

We don’t cringe when the other says forever. I exhale a little bit more every time.

Valentines Day was lovely, as was last year and so shall be next year if I continue to be the luckiest woman alive, Maverick’s girlfriend.

Paint it in blinking glow in the dark neon on my forehead.

Tattoo it on my butt.

Real Deal 365 days a year.

Love, love, grateful love.

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