Love exists in his doing the dishes
and singing to himself while he does,
smiling at me when I pass him.
It is in the way he laughs when I imitate our son
doing something funny
and when he kisses my hand every single night as we
drift off to sleep.
It is in his eyes,
sparkling when he tells me a story
and in his arms when I return home from somewhere.
It's in the memories of our years together,
all the times he looked at me in awe
and I felt whole.
It's when he's across the room from me,
engrossed in his work and I in my surfing
that I can feel the love,
like the warmth that flows from the vents in winter.
It is everywhere around me
ever since I first stood on his doorstep.
Now I know what love is,
and it exists here.
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