Love. of. my. Life.

He tells me he loves me every day. And I have no idea why.

I get cranky when I'm hungry, or tired, or...let's just face it, whenever I feel like it, because I am a girl. And he never judges or tells me that I'm ridiculous - he finds the humor in it and makes me feel better by helping me laugh at myself.

I fall asleep on the couch every night for two hours before he wakes me up and puts me to bed. No matter how much I fight it, he never lets me sleep on the sofa.

I come home exhausted and he makes dinner, without complaining.

I leave my things all over the place and he accepts it.

I forget to do my chores on my day off and he never reprimands.

He, on the other hand, plays with the cat for hours, cleans up dinner, watches Glee with me (don't tell anyone), lets me use his computer, makes the bed, takes out the trash, drives us when we run errands, takes me to the airport, and still opens doors and pays for dinner eight years after our first date. He knows exactly what to say to cheer me up, holds me through my tears, and encourages me to make our dreams come true.

He's superman, and I don't remind him often enough. But even when I do, he doesn't believe me when I tell him he's awesome and the best boyfriend in the world.

And really he is. Not only because of the little things he does, but for the person he is. He is patient, kind, funny, caring, understanding, level-headed, considerate, encouraging, and fun.

It makes me feel like the luckiest person in the world. I have so many more reasons to love him than he has to love me. But for some reason he still does.