Don’t know how.
It could be the copious amount of medical debt, the hours spent at hospitals, looking for meds, carting me to and from the bathroom, cleaning shit and vomit.
These are not the things love is made of.
Love is that time you bought brown sheets after I vomited and shat on every set we owned.
Love is that time you laughed out loud when you found my google search for “10 ways to piss off your husband.”
Love is every time you don’t keep score.
Love is learning to love myself.
Even though, I am tough, like over-baked pasta.
Love is learning to let you love me.
My furry patient lion,
unbridled liver of life,
journeyman and companion,
O, Captain my Captain.