• Sarah Margaret Henry

Love Is

PC: Allyse Pulliam Photography

I'm not the perfect fiancé.

I don't even know what perfection in such a role would look like.

I'm forgetful, I worry, I overwork, and don't do the dishes as often as I should. I really hate cleaning toilets. It freaks me out and I always let him do it.

I'm not marrying a perfect man; he gets frustrated, he doesn't always communicate, he doesn't always know what the say, and he ALWAYS forgets to put stuff back in the fridge after lunch. And he refuses to kill bugs. They freak him out and he always needs me to do it.

Our cultural understanding of relationships must walk a nuanced line between knowing that Prince Charming is a myth but knowing also that not all behavior is forgivable.


We should expect the best for ourselves while also understanding that we must extend grace to people who are just as flawed as we are.

It's the difference between understanding that making a mistake like forgetting a birthday is a hurdle to overcome and cheating is a brick wall not worth chipping away at. Sure, you can get through it, but at some point you need to ask yourself if the only thing you'll find on the other side of the wall is another brick wall: not the greener pastures they enchanted you with when you first got together.

I don't know what love is supposed to be. I've screwed it up enough times that I should probably be disqualified from ever pretending to be an expert.

When I left for rehearsal last night, Justin was only just walking in the door from work. I think we kissed each other on the cheek as he passed me the keys to his car. His is safer than mine, so he wanted me to take it.

When I came home, he was curled up on the couch with my weighted blanket watching hockey commentary. I'd missed the game. I don't even know who played.

We talked for about five minutes before he fell asleep while I was answering a client email.

I went to the office to get some work done; I know he's over tired and fighting a cold right now, so I let him sleep.

I came back out an hour and a half later and woke him up to get him into bed. He looked up at me, scrunched up his face, blinked in the light of the lamp over his head, and stood up slowly. As I was walking away to feed the rabbits, I heard him mumble to himself, "I went. To the store. Got you avocados. And bagels. I know you like bagels."

Once I finished up in the bunny room, I walked into the bedroom to discover that after stumbling into bed, he had stolen our entire comforter.

I took back my weighted blanket from the couch, still warm from his body.

I'll let him have the comforter to himself tonight.

Love is unremarkable and imperfect and I wouldn't have it any other way.

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