My Erik isn’t one for flowers or chocolates, and we’re both too practical for jewelry– neither of us wear wedding rings (though maybe we should?). His devotion is usually expressed in vacuuming the hallway, sustaining me in every crazy endeavor and talking for hours and hours on the same old subjects. Watching him flip the pancakes on Sunday afternoons makes my heart flutter every time.
But occasionally, he does something so wildly romantic that it takes my breath away.
Bluster away thunderstorms. My little rose tree is staked, tied and walled against your fury.
And every time I walk past the tree I feel deliciously, delightfully loved.