I Hope This Counts

I’m finally going to tell you.  Some people say that true love is love you can’t explain – that when you ask why you love that special person, you’re flustered for the real reason.  Maybe I don’t know the reason I love you, but that’s no excuse not to try.

I love you because each time I spoke to you it was new and refreshing.  It’s like there was another whole world that I could explore where no one had ever set foot.  I love you because I could never get tired of listening to you and doing things for you, and how you seemed to be a limitless supply of energy, for yourself and me.

But that shouldn’t surprise you.  I hate to say it, but there were girls before you and girls after you – guys, too – who could probably make me feel the same way.  Maybe not to your extreme, but along the same path.

What sets you apart is this:

When I thought of how I could fully describe how I felt about you, I thought of a broken-down one-bedroom apartment.  I thought of you.  In the morning, in a kitchen that was once white, you stood, turned away from me and holding a baby and gently twisting your body back and forth.  I opened the bedroom door, walked up to you, wrapped my arms around you and said, “I love you, Mom.”  Then I bent to kiss you on the cheek and we lingered there, half dancing.

That’s how I love you.

Better late than never.