He calls me “Love” as if it’s my first name and I’m the only one in the world who owns it.
He tells me he loves me so much and that he will always be there for me through whatever like it’s the most important fact I should know.
His eyes always sparkle when he looks at me. They speak so much of his soul.
He knows I can be the most difficult person in the world but still loves me for it.
He plans out his future with me like it’s the only thing he can ever be sure of.
He doesn’t let go of my hand when he’s driving. When the road gets less busy, he would slow down a little before reaching to give me a peck on the cheek, and then he’d kiss my palm and tell me he loves me.
He is so full of spontaneity and never runs low on it.
He always makes plans for the both of us. His date ideas are always far from ordinary.
He is proud to be my man. He brags about it like it’s the greatest honor he was ever granted.
He never runs out of cute little surprises for me and they never fail to sweep me off my feet every time.
He speaks to me gently.
His “good morning” and “good night” messages keep me smiling all day and all night. I could reread them countless times and still blush every time.
He lets me doodle on his skin and doesn’t mind strolling around with the fake tattoos that seem like a five-year-old inked them on him.
He tolerates my biting habits and doesn’t mind me binge-biting his arms.
He has hobbies. He has a passion for something. He knows what he wants and has clear goals in life.
He has a life apart from “us.” He makes time for his boys, he bonds with his brothers, and he has his “me” time, too. His world doesn’t entirely revolve around me, and that’s a good thing.
His arms are so comfortable I can fall asleep in them while standing.
He tells me I’m beautiful even when I don’t believe it; his words sound like truth in its most innocent form.
He knows my comfort food and the best time to get me some.
He has a good memory. He remembers the little things: every detail of our first date, the day we first went fishing together, our stopover sequence on our first trip to the beach, the first all-healthy meal we had together, the last movie we watched together, and the movie before that. He remembers absolutely everything.
He never fails to cheer me up in an instant whenever I’m upset. He knows the right things to say and do.
He knows the little things about me: what makes me mad, what makes me happy, my favorite color, my obsession for black cats, my favorite things–the list goes on. The little things about me that may seem insignificant are important to him.
The smell of his cologne drives me crazy.
He is low-maintenance. He is effortlessly gorgeous.
He’s always on time and doesn’t complain when I’m an hour late.
He likes to argue with me about matters regarding science, history, religion, superstition, and anything under the sun. We tickle each other’s intellect.
He has a great sense of humor and is always quick to come up with silly jokes about anything in our current surroundings.
He loves his parents dearly.
His room is organized; everything is in place—not something you would expect from a guy.
He doesn’t depend on me for answers to quizzes and assignments. He is responsible for his own schoolwork.
When I’m having a bad hair day and I ask him whether I should tie my hair or let it down, he’d pick either; he still thinks I’m beautiful even when I think I look like an abandoned doll in a horror movie.
When we’re not together, he would still know when I’m in an emergency even if I don’t tell him. He knows when I need help. He knows when I need him the most. Doesn’t matter if he’s in the middle of something very important—he’d leave it all and come to me as fast as a bullet. He’s my lifesaver.
He’s only selfish when it comes to me. He wants me all to himself, but even so, I feel complete freedom knowing I’m all his.
He’s generous. He gives donations and large tips not because he has a fat wallet to show off, but because he’s just a genuinely good man.
He is eager to learn how to cook because he wants to impress me some more, not knowing he has already been feeding my soul with his love in all its glorious dishes.
My silence has different meanings and he can decode each one.
He doesn’t make me compromise. I have nothing to compromise. We meet halfway and walk new paths together.
He thinks I’m pretty with makeup on, but thinks I’m prettier barefaced.
He is the right kind of clingy. He wants to be by my side every hour of every day but still gives me the space and time I need for myself and for the people who are important to me besides him.
He sends me random “I love yous” in between no-communication hours just to let me know I’m on his mind.
He’s not a party animal. He prefers spending Saturday nights someplace that is not packed with people. Good conversations with good company over good booze are his thing.
He writes me love letters and they blow me away.
He makes me laugh so hard I feel a 6-pack forming every time—makes me not want to go back to the gym anymore.
He doesn’t mind me messing up his hair in public.
He is most serious when he’s praying. He shuts off everything and focuses solely on his intimate conversation with God.
Together we brave the cold, play in the rain, jump over mud, and run around in total darkness in nothing but our underwear and his shirt hanging loosely on my body. He makes pretending to be the most carefree kid in the world a heavenly bliss.
He takes me out on road trips just when I need one to decompress.
He smokes cigarettes, but the fact that he’s consistently working on quitting such a bad habit is already enough to stop me from worrying.
He is more of a complementary match to me than an “other half.” We don’t complete each other simply because we are already whole individuals to begin with. We can do without each other, but we would rather not because we become the best versions of ourselves when we’re together.
His mere presence instantly makes everything better.