The other day, Moose was ill. It was just a headache but it lasted days and it made him feel thoroughly wretched. We were due to walk Luke back to the station to see him off after his weekend visit down in Plymouth, but Moose looked and felt so poorly that I told him to go back home and sleep. He deliberated a moment, then took me up on the offer, hugging me and saying "thank you... for being you."
I've been with Moose over four years now. He's always telling me he loves me and reminding me how happy he is to be with me, but for some reason, that statement resonated so much with me that now, days later, I'm feeling compelled to blog about it. Call it the spirit of the day, I guess.
I've not made life especially easy for Moose in a lot of ways. I'm not about to say that he's perfect and I'm a monster - we have ups and downs like any couple, and the long distance element of our relationship lays claim to most of the downs - but I have a tendency to obsess over things long after they've subsided. I'm a dog with a bone, extremely high maintenance and extremely emotional. Hey, passion runs both ways!
But in that moment there was this tired, raw, genuine thanks. Not thanks for saying he should leave us and sleep. Not for buying him juice or for being sure that he had painkillers. Just a thanks for being the person who doesn't for one second demand more from him than he should be giving. For being me.
Moose tells me he loves me all the time, and I believe it every single time, but there was honestly something so much more meaningful in his thanks. For every down we've had as a couple, for all the inconvenience of loving somebody who lives hundreds of miles away, I'm somebody he's genuinely thankful for.
And honestly, I'm so I'm thankful for that, too.
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