Love to me is… (menstruation edition)

by alittlehoneyformyheart

Love to me is when i get my period and you give me tummy rubs and make me hot, sweet tea.

Love to me is your hot, sweet tea which is exactly how i like it to be, except i never knew that until it came from you (there’s something so endearing about how sweet or savoury you make things, especially coming from someone who claims not to have a love for food. A man with a strong sense of taste is a man who has my heart as well as a special place in it.)

It’s when i tell you that how you treat me when i get my period matters more to me than how you treat me on say, my birthday.

Or when i’m dragging my feet at the department store because i tell you “my uterus is heavy and my butt feels like it’s about to fall off” and you make pukey, gagging noises but still remain standing on two feet, managing to simultaneously look appalled yet amused.

Or when for the fun of it, I flip through a sample book of sanitary pads at the women’s aisle and tell you that i’m facing a “dilemma”, that i can’t tell which one would be more absorbent and more comfy for my vagina. Lol. And you moan and groan but you still oblige by feeling all the pads with one eye cringed closed and end up picking the one which you think “isn’t too big but still wide enough err i don’t know but yeah”. Oh and you also pick it because it has wings.

Love is also when we’re back home in your room and i’m on the night bed and you’re on the day bed (a new quirky addition to your room which you insist feels different because one is made for sleeping on and one is made for just lazing about in and watching movies and using your laptop on… but really, they’re just two identical mattresses laid side by side) and i start whining about my entire body aching and feeling heavy. And just when i think you’ve had enough and you’re about to make a snarky reply, you soothingly answer, “of course it hurts, dear” accompanied with yet another tummy rub.

And then you let me sleep in peace for hours and hours while you lay down patiently beside me and do your own thing, eventually waking me up for the first, second and third time telling me that it’s getting late and that you have to send me home.

But as usual, i beg for just “another five minutes, another five minutes”, a plea which is always, always lovingly granted for which i cannot express enough gratitude.

Love is exactly just that.

And i hope in your eyes, love to you is also something unique and unpretentious. Something unexpected and wonderful like the sudden catching of the eyes where everything good that you’ve ever done or been is reflected back to you from the daydreaming eyes of your loved one.

Sigh. And i want to end by saying that “love to me is you” but then i’d have to kill myself because that shit be mushy as hell.

That’s all for tonight xx

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