my husband

He is the nicest person I ever met. His heart is pure. He cares about everyone. Any mistake he makes is an oversight or error of expectation. He would do anything for me. He's brimming full of goodness like the goodness is an actual white light glowing inside him. Moral, emotional, attentive, cautious. He can get a little pissy when he's driving and angry about politics. But he's just pure good.

Not me--I get vengeful and can be mean when I'm feeling slighted. Are you making fun of me? I ask. I'm sensitive about things I shouldn't be, take stuff personally, and don't let it go. I'm demanding and can be critical. I'm moral, emotional, attentive, and cautious too, and I try to be gentle, but I'm not always succesful. He is. When I'm tired, I get snappy. He never gets snappy. This goodness is as true a reason as any why I married him four years ago.

All this purity might be a bit boring if he wasn't also wildly creative, stunningly brilliant, gifted with curiousity and a long attention span for learning, funny, charming, and gorgeous.

Elsewhere I've described his muscular thighs, beautiful package, broad shoulders, the squishy layer of fat under his skin that makes him so cuddly and snuggle-able. And his soft, white skin.

But I probably didn't mention his dazzling green eyes, lucious mouth, perfect ass. The vulnerability of his personhood. He's explicitly sweet. When I look into his eyes, I feel like I'm looking into perfection, not cold and precise, but a living and changing perfection of goodness and warmth that's focused on my well-being.

The few friendships he does form, he loves his friends very much. He's as emotional as I am, which is saying a lot.