I haven't written a poem in years. Apparently ... loving my husband has me thinking and writing again. I was lying there in bed next to him (he was sound asleep) and the words just kept running in circles the other night until I had to get up and type them out. Only then could I fall asleep. Well, first I took the calendar he'd asked me to buy for him, and wrote our "firsts" in red ink with hearts all over the thing. Then I fell asleep.

Yes, I gave him the poem. No, he still hasn't said anything about it. But he was pretty lovey dovey all day, he did clean the kitchen and put laundry away, he did get off the computer when I asked last night, we did have dinner as a family, and he did cuddle me for a while on the recliner (which was only built for one, not two) before his arms fell asleep.

Nope, he's not perfect. But he's mine. He was brave and took alllllllll the risks in our dating relationship. He held my hand first, he kissed me first, he said I love you first, he proposed (first? I never have propositioned him ... hm ...), he gave me poetry first.

I am a chicken.

An old friend emailed me last night about a former friend of mine. Got me thinking about why I was such a chicken with my sweetie. I've made first moves before, but refused to even try with him.

I expected him to disappear. Up until the day we went to the temple, I expected him to bail. Even after he stuck through the surgery and the ICU and me puking all over everyone (morphine -- I'm allergic, apparently), I still half expected him to disappear.

I'm glad he didn't.