I could probably describe love with any number of cliches but I’ve chosen this one. Love is in many ways just like the relationship I have with the weather. It’s hot, it’s cold, it could be better and it could never be more perfect. A constant hypocrisy.

I could never love anything like I love you. Maybe someday  when our children are born I’ll love something more than you. I’ll hold them close to my chest and feel the slight rhythm of their heart and know I’d die a million deaths to see them succeed. But I’ll never love someone ‘like’ I love you. Nothing will ever pull at me in so many directions like you have. Nothing will be imperfect in the most perfect ways like you.

So I’ll love you every season from now until I’m all out of seasons.