Do not love her figure because it is pleasing to your eyes. But instead, love her figure because it feels much like you imagine heaven would; when it is pressed up against you while you sleep. Love her figure because you are familiar with each and every spot that can take her breath away and send chills throughout her body with one touch. Love her figure precisely for what it is, not what you would wish it to be.
Do not love her skin because it is youthful, blemish-free and un-tainted. But instead, love her skin for the way it flushes when she is angry or the way it blushes when she finds herself embarrassed. Love her skin because it is the canvas in which her life story will be painted. The wrinkles that will begin to appear around her mouth will be from the countless moments she spent smiling. The small lines that blanket her forehead will be indicators of goofy faces, moments of passion and proof she is a living, breathing, woman…so divinely made and even more divinely executed.
Love her for how she wears her clothes, not for the price of the wardrobe or how well put together it makes her look. Love her because that pair of jeans you absolutely hate, makes her feel invincible. Love her because when she feels good about the fabric kissing her skin, her confident swagger is enough to stop an army. Love her because rather than cater to your ideas of “sexy” she is donning yellow rain boots with her black cocktail dress or wearing her favorite floral skirt to go grocery shopping. Yes, love a woman who makes herself feel like a woman, not one who looks to you to dictate the definition for her.
Love her, not for the size of her bra, her score on the SAT or her IQ. Love her in-spite of every number in existence used to define her. Love her for what she has created, the person she has chosen to become separate of her up-bringing, her merciless toiling of developing exactly what it is that makes her, her.
Love her, not because she is beautiful. But because her true beauty resides in the tears she cries, the secrets she hides and the fire burning when you gaze into her eyes. Love the beauty in her perfect imperfection. Love intensely that of which she is the most insecure. Love the beauty that comes from raw, disheveled moments, not the ones that come from minutes spent in front of the mirror. Love the oddities, the quirks and the things that could cause you to go quite mad.
Love her, not for the sound of her voice, but for how she uses that voice to create, express and soothe. Love her because she has her own voice and doesn’t adopt yours as the only indicator of reason. Love her because she thinks enough to ask questions, though the questions may seem silly or illogical to you. Love her because she can open your mind and heart…if you let her.
To truly love a woman takes courage. It takes shedding of the ego and an opening of the soul to see how undeniably magnificent she is.
Love her, because she is everything you are not.