Those Little Things

Maybe it's those little things that count.

Like the way she folds and hangs up my clothes for me.

The way she lets me take my time in the dressing room even though she's dying to see.

The unfailing, loyal smile that crosses her face when she sees me.

The way she always asks for permission to carry me.

The delicate way in which she holds me, cradled gently in her surrounding arms.

The considerate birthday gifts from the heart that are always my favorite.

The fact that she's learned to cook simply so I won't have to bring lunch.

The fact that she's memorized eating times to make sure I eat.

The constant asking for bathroom breaks, resting breaks.

The absolute fascination that comes to her features when I answer her questions.

The way her arm is thrown over me when she has to make a sudden stop in the car.

The way she hugs me…swaying me softly as she hums into my ear.

The way she comforts me…by telling me the truth and that it will get better.

The way she loves me, by telling me so with a warm smile on her face and a single nod.

The nod is to ensure me; to make sure I know.

And I do.

And maybe the big things don't matter so much.

Like the obvious jealousy he shows for anyone but himself.

The way he's always demanding for my best interest.

The way he scoops me up in his arms.

But without my permission.

Like lying to me when something's bad so that I'm stuck in the dark rather than comforted.

Like being constantly told how unworthy he is of me.

Making me feel terrible.

Like risking his life for me when it's completely unnecessary.

The forceful way in which he holds me in his arms… is protecting but not much more.

The way he makes sure my seatbelt is fastened.

I can fasten a seatbelt.

The anger that erupts inside of him when someone says something about me.

We can't talk about it?

The way he instigates the lust, kissing me slowly and passionately only to pull away when anything more progresses.

It's for my safety.

The commanding, forceful way in which he tells me that he loves me…with a determined scowl and a raised voice.

The actions are to ensure me that I know.

And I don't.

So maybe it's those little things that count.

And maybe that's why I kissed her.

And maybe that's why she kissed me back.

Because it's those little things that count.