How I Know I Love You

I know I love you because I want to get you soup when you’re sick. Not only do I want to get it for you, I want to make it for you so you can eat something made with love instead of with crushed insects and preservatives. I know I love you because I want to slap anyone who hurts you, even if it’s your boss. I want to hold you when you’re having a nightmare and kiss the spot that hurts when you bump into something. I know I love you because I want you to be healthy even when you’re not sick, and that’s why I keep bugging you to change your crappy eating ways even though I know you’re over hearing about it.

I know I love you because I worry about the stuff only people who love you worry about, like the amount of quality sleep you get a night and how much you drink when you’re sad and whether you’re getting enough vitamin B. Like probably more than your mom does, I’m not sure she especially cares about vitamin B. I know I love you because I freak out when you’re obviously disintegrating yet too stubborn and too “I’m fine” to actually go to the doctor, even though I do that sort of thing myself.

I know I love you because I think you’re beautiful even when you’re not. And I don’t mean good-looking, I mean beautiful, beautiful like there’s something pervasive and magnetic about you that comes through even when you look positively bad. I think you’re beautiful even when you’re hungover and puking your guts out, covered in hives, or when half your face is purple and swollen because you decided to cosplay Fight Club and punched yourself in the eye too hard. I know I love you because I think you’re beautiful even when you’re wearing Crocs and that’s no small accomplishment.

I know I love you because I can’t abandon you, not even when you’re being a dick. Not even when you’re being ten dicks. Normally I don’t put up with that sort of behavior but I love you and I understand you’re stressed or frustrated or PMS-y so I’ll let it slide for a little bit. But I also love you enough to call you out on it when it gets to be too much. I know I love you because only people who love you care to say something about your bad behavior instead of saying nothing and just calling you an asshole behind your back.

I know I love you because I want to listen, I really do. I don’t have anywhere to be that can’t wait for a while and I’m not checking my phone, in fact turned it off and buried it in the cushions the moment you said you needed me. I’m here for you and that other thing can wait.

I know I love you because I’m truly concerned with how your life turns out. It’s not just that I want you to “be happy” or attain that vague self-helpy “inner peace” bullshit we’re all supposed to aspire toward, I want you to express yourself and be fulfilled and feel like you’re living life for a good reason, not just passing the time. I want everything to work out for you the way it should and I want to be there for it, occasionally with champagne.

And I’m genuinely convinced that I love you because I want to do things for you that I don’t want to do for anyone, ever. Examples: I’ll babysit your loud sticky children when you have them. I’ll bring you ice water and take care of you when you eat too much ecstasy like an idiot. I’ll even stand there patiently with a video camera as you attach piranhas to your nipples when you’re broke and trying to get on Jackass, all that and more. That’s how I know I love you, and I hope you know it too.