“Twice in her life she had mistaken something else for it; it was like seeing somebody in the street who you think is a friend, you whistle and wave and run after him, and it is not only not the friend, but not even very like him. A few minutes later the real friend appears in view, and then you can’t imagine how you ever mistook that other person for him. Linda was now looking upon the authentic face of love, and she knew it, but it frightened her. That it should come so casually, so much by a series of accidents, was frightening.”
I love your hair.
I love your tiny ears.
I love the fact that you wear glasses.
I love the way you laugh.
I love the way that you laugh every day.
I love the way you rub your nose with the palm of your hand.
I love that when you wear make-up you always ask me if you look like a clown.
I love that your anecdotes are just things you have seen.
I love how loyal you are to your friends.
I love that you blamed a mouse for eating my bar of Dairy Milk earlier.
I love that you introduced me to “Book at Bedtime”.
I love you for tolerating my nonsense.
I love your ankles but not in some weird fetish way…just because they are nice.
I love that when we go to the cinema you take your shoes off even though you know it gets on my nerves.
I love that so many of my happiest memories involve you.
I love that you came into my life and showed me what love really is.
I love you.