When I move my right thumb, it pops. Last night when I was sitting on Alina's bed to say goodnight, she asked, "Why do your fingers make noise?" I told her that I was old and creaky. She said, "You're not old and creaky, you're perfect," then she pulled me close.
In telling me I was perfect she wasn't telling me I was without fault, she was telling me that she loves me in spite of my faults. She made me tear up that she loves my despite who I am. Her love is perfect love.
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1 comment:
Beautiful...
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