this is why i love you

I always find it funny when someone confesses their feelings and the other person responds with, Why do you like me? Why me? It’s such an expected question, but also such an impossible one. Because on one hand, it makes sense. Out of all the people in the world, why you? What makes you stand out? What makes me choose you over every friend, every stranger, every maybe?

But on the other hand, it’s a frustrating question. There’s no correct answer. What am I supposed to say — that you make me smile? That you make me laugh? That you make me feel safe? You won’t do that every day. There will be days you piss me off, frustrate me, and make me want silence instead of your voice. Does that cancel everything? Does that make my love any less real?

That’s why I don’t base love on how you make me feel in the moment. Feelings shift. Attributes stay.

If I wanted to answer you simply, I could list your qualities. I could say I love you because you’re kind and ambitious. Because you’re strong-willed and stubborn as hell. Because you’re funny and passionate. Because you’re goal oriented and disciplined. Because you’re a loving, kinky, possessive man. Because you’re taller than me. Because you love your family. Because you look so goddamn good in a suit.

I could list every single one of these traits, and you would still look at me and ask, Okay, but why me? And you’d be right. None of these traits are unique to you. The world is full of people who are kind, ambitious, passionate, attractive, and responsible. People my mother would adore. People who check the same boxes.

But none of them do it the way you do.

And that’s where the answer lies. Not in the traits, but in the way you embody them. Not in the list, but in the feeling behind the list. When you ask why me, I genuinely have to ask, why not you? Who else could it be? Who else is you, just the way you are?

You are the standard in my head. The blueprint.
I compare everyone to you — how they talk, how they think, how they act, how they look. And at the exact moment where they fall short, I think of you again. I go back to you without even meaning to.

I miss you even when you’re right there.
I miss you in anticipation of the moment you’ll be away.
I pray for you even when I forget to pray for myself.

So when you ask me why you, the only honest answer I have is this:

Because the world is full of people who are everything you are — but somehow, none of them are you. And once I’ve seen you, once I’ve known you, once I’ve loved you, how could it ever be anyone else?

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