L.O.V.E

I have loved before. I'm pretty sure I have been loved before. But this is something entirely different, so different. It almost seems like it comes from somewhere else, which is I guess why poets rattle on about love being "heaven sent" or something... it has to come from somewhere truly magical, this kind of love. I find myself almost constantly elated, always totally surprised that I feel this way and all the more so that he feels the same way right back. When I'm not being totally smug about it, I find myself afraid... afraid that somehow my failure to clean the house or put my clothes away and not on the floor will mean that I'll lose him. The thought leaves me so scared that I try not to think of it at all, even though deep down I know that we belong together no matter our differences in cleaning habits, and that for the first time, I don't really have anything to worry about. I am loved... by the man I love.