When Michael and I met, he didn’t sweep me off my feet, although I did fall and still am madly in love with him. He didn’t smooth talk me. In fact, he was really nervous. He stumbled over words and would look away when I noticed him looking. He would tease me and he felt uncomfortable at times because he was just trying so hard, and he’d never really tried before. As time went on, he conquered my fears. The man has seen me in the shower with black mess streaming down my eyes and will still stop to tell me how beautiful I am. He sees me without an ounce of makeup, and says that’s his favorite. And when I do my makeup, he likes to watch. Stopping me every step of the way saying I don’t need that. He rubs my feet when they’re stinky and fresh out of my work shoes. And massages my back when I’m hot and sweaty after a work out. He holds me when I’m tired and makes me smile even when I’m frustrated and extra grumpy. When I’ve overslept by ten minutes and my alarm doesn’t go off, he calls me. And if I can’t sleep at night, sometimes he calls me then, too. He makes me eat because I don’t always take care of myself, but he wants to. He tells me those skinny jeans look good, because he knows I think they don’t. And he puts up with Taylor Swift in the car, even though he’d probably stab her if he could. He says I love yous at the weirdest of times. Sometimes randomly while we’re mid conversation, and sometimes during sex. I’ll have just left him and five minutes later he texts me, I miss you. He’s not conventional. For Valentine’s Day he got me mokasins. My feet/hands are always ridiculously cold. And I’m always complaining about it. The man thinks outside the box. He’s not the best at everything. But he also makes the best of everything. And I love him for that. For all the little things. And for loving me when I can’t love myself sometimes. That’s why.