He lives for big mountains and black dogs. Old motorbikes, and his girls
His hands are always dirty. He works hard.
His favorite clothes are of good quality and have fulfilled their purpose. His old wool sweater with holes in it, which I attempted more than once to carelessly discard.
His many pairs of carharts that I advise him to trade in for GAP jeans when we go out to dinner.
He is older and wiser, though I forget and deny it.
I am finally beginning to understand. Grasping who he is.
He is authentic. He is not the boys I have spent my life chasing after.
This husband I love, and this place he has built for us. I haven't given the respect or appreciation that is deserved.
I am learning.