January 22, 2012


Part of writing about myself means that I share some of my innermost thoughts and experiences. In doing so, it is unsurprising that some of the people I hold most dearest appear in my entries--Alex more frequent than most. Because it is in my nature to shun sappiness (thanks mom!) and to exaggerate meaningless details (thanks dad!), Alex can sometimes come across as my slappy roommate whose flaws I broadcast to the world to make my own story better.

He is always a good sport about it, but for clarity sake, let me clear.

I love Alex. I love him so much I want to marry him.

He is my rock when I'm blown around in doubt, my confidante when I'm making tough decisions, my cheerleader when I'm struggling with self-doubt, and my "stop writing and let's enjoy the day outside" inspirer. He is the one who, when I spiral out of control on one of my rants, patiently listens and delicately encourages me to figure out what's "really going on." He is the one who asks me every few weeks, "is there anything else I can do to make you feel more loved?" He never complains, ever, even when I'm in one of my terribly nagging and self-righteous moods. He sees the world in a childish way--full of adventure and opportunity and joy, and this constantly refreshes me. He doesn't judge people, never holds a grudge, and his generosity is beautiful. The way he loves and treats his mom is beautiful. The way he values his family is beautiful. He is, to me, the epitome of beauty.

So, disclaimer: when I am harping on Alex, which I have a tendency to do at times, and undoubtedly will continue to do (bless his heart), my love and adoration for this man never waivers. Just an FYI.

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