It’s been a rough year. That sentence doesn’t even come close to expressing what I’ve put you through. The fact that you’re still here after this year… Either you really love me or you’ve got mental issues that you probably should explore. Quite possibly both.
This time last year, we were driving each other insane baking things, but I wasn’t holding up. Every now and then, though, I would see you through the fog. That’s what kept me going as long as I lasted. I love watching you work with your hands. I love watching you really get into something that you enjoy, when you’re excited about it.
You loved me while I was a turnip. That’s not something every husband can say about his wife. I did something stupid and selfish, and you turned it into one of the most selfless moments anyone could make. You stayed with me even though I can’t remember it. You fought for me.
You brought me home and took care of me for months. And it hasn’t been fun. I wish we had been playing doctor this whole time. You learned to read lips when I couldn’t talk. You encouraged me to write. You keep encouraging me to write more.
I’ve spent a lot of time these past months in silent contemplation. I watch you, and I think about how ridiculously lucky I am to have found you. I think about how much I admire the spirit that is you, your creativity, your wit, your passion. When I close my eyes, I see your face, your eyes, your smile. I feel your heart, the goodness that is you.
So, here is my Valentine to you, my love. I can’t promise you smooth sailing or sunny days. I won’t offer you the moon and stars above. I’m afraid I can’t even give you a great romantic meal. What I give to you is simply me with all my imperfections, warts and all. And know I love you with all my heart and all my soul.