The love of my life

My Husband, Andy.

See this guy? I love him. I love him so much, I'd do anything for him. He is my husband. In May of 2004, we made a commitment to each other that no matter what, we would be together until we died. I was gone for a day, and when I came home, I looked for him. When I found him, he put his arms around me and we just held each other for a while. He missed me, and I him, after only a day apart. He's my rock, and I'm his. He's the guy that's snatched the rum from my hand and held me while I cried until I couldn't stand anymore. He's the guy that bought himself a Jeep, then handed me the keys and is still driving his crappy truck. He's the guy that doesn't care if I go have dinner or drinks or whatever with friends, male or female. He's the guy that leaves his clothes on the floor wherever he takes them off. He's the guy that leaves dishes in the sink, trash on the counter, empty containers in the fridge. He is my husband. I love him. I wouldn't want to live a life without him in it. No ex-boyfriend, once-love, or would-be "greener grass" is going to change that. I married him because I can't breathe when he's not around, I can't sleep without his feet touching mine, I can't think when I'm without him. I am deeply, madly, irrevocably in love with my Andy.