Imperfect

He is many things - strong, handsome, intelligent, kind. His eyes can be as grey and level as the sea; his hands are safe and gentle. At a party he can make the humblest guest feel like the most interesting, important person in the room. I love him for these things.

But I love him as much for these strengths as I do for his shortcomings. He is impatient, moody, frustratingly singleminded, sometimes inflexible. There are times he makes me want to weep with frustration; when I'm convinced that others must see the steam coming from my ears in short cartoonish bursts.

At the heights of my anger I somehow always soften. I know he is real, and I know he is mine. And I love him even more for letting me see that he is imperfect.