The list is short of better feelings than when my husband flirts with me. When he playfully bumps me, touches my rear end or sends a text from the other room asking if I have “time”for him.
He is by far a better flirt than I. And he’s downright adorable when he does it.
His flirting fills me with love, makes me feel sexy & wanted. And, works like a charm every single time.
Often though, it also fills me with wonder….how could he possibly want me? This broken thing, this body, this bottomless sack of emotions.
I am in awe of the love he pours over me. Of how our marriage seems less and less like a conscious commitment than it does the most natural, life depending partnership – as natural as breathing.
His love is like the ocean, constantly rolling into the shore. Sometimes thrashing into the rocks. But mostly lapping in slow reaches onto the sand. The tide may change, but the ocean meets the shore anyway, hour after hour. Day by day. Year after year.