For over a year, I have never been able to put a finger on why I love my boyfriend. He can blab to my grandma and confess in written essays the reasons why he loves me, but when asked to do the same I’m essentially speechless. Some people explain this as me not truly loving him; others congratulate me with the belief that true love cannot be explained. I choose to refrain from investigating what underlying cause, if any, can explain my speechlessness and instead patiently and excitedly await the moment when the right words will engrave themselves onto the tip of my tongue.
With that said, I don’t know if the following list is really reasons why I love him versus reasons why this Valentines Day was really special to me. All I know is that I’m hands-down the luckiest 21 year old in the country, and here’s why:
You screamed almost as loud as me during the Duke v. UNC game. You also didn’t take it personally when I requested that you do not touch me for at least 30 minutes after the game was over. You care just as much about sports as I do and you support my teams as if they’ve always been yours.
You did all of the frou-frou yoga shit with me… and more importantly, you applied it to your own life; you felt it and you loved it. You have the biggest mind of anyone I’ve ever met.
We both set up our own mats in partner yoga before being reminded that we’re supposed to share one mat. So after awkwardly finding the space to harness both of our inner selves on one mat, we were told to face each other, open our eyes, and “really look at your partner.” Oh boy. You nervously smiled and fidgeted your eyes across my face and back and forth to the space above my hairline. But I rested my hands on your thighs and you settled into your vulnerability. Instead of judging a situation beyond your comfort zone, you relaxed into it and you relaxed into me. You’re brave.
We love food. So I got us into the chapel hill ‘hot spot’ to share a romantic 3-course Valentine’s dinner. It was everything and more. the couples around us insisted on taking our picture, hearing the story of how we met, and incessantly claiming we were the cutest couple of the night. After nearly 3 hours of eating the most fantastic meal, we used one hand to rub our stomach and the other to hold each other up as we wobbled home. We were so stuffed that night that we both passed out fully-clothed and above the covers for 12 hours. Our heads bent in towards each other and our hands met in between our bodies. The last thing I remember you saying was “I just farted. It’s ok if you do too.”
Less than 24 hours later I found myself in the back of an ambulance half unconscious and all I could think of was wanting you beside me. One of the medics began filling out my paperwork and asked what my relationship status was: single, married, divorced, or widowed.
I told told him, “I’m in a serious relationship.”
What felt like a lifetime later, you ran up beside my bed in the ER. You rested your hand on my forehead and said, “I’m here, baby. They wouldn’t let me in the ambulance with you.” I hadn’t shed a tear yet, but once I felt the security of you beside me, tears flooded down my cheeks.
A couple hours later I managed to sit up and you began feeding me ginger-ale. I was feeling pretty loopy and every time I took a sip a little burp ensued. Even though I was burping in your face and cracking up about it, you only told me how cute I was and found my grossness just as funny as I did.
The next morning you cancelled your flight because you knew I was scared of passing out again and that I wanted you to be with me. Even though it was the biggest, most important week of your professional career, you stayed with me.
And the last, most important reason for whatever I’m getting at here is that you, without fail, lacking-nutrition or not, always let me eat the last taco.