“Beloved” has always been a word I loved. An old fashioned word that removes me to a time of parasols and Mr. Darcy’s and old England. It is an undying love, an all-encompassing feeling of pure joy and adoration. It is a knowledge of complete and honesty fidelity and understanding. It is an old word, a used word, a needed word, an underestimated word. Because how can you really describe the one you love solely for their characteristics and for their goodness? Because no words are ever enough to truly describe them. Because anything you write might be an understatement, might not fully reach the feelings you want to portray. But I do want to try.
I have a beloved. A man who so fully understands me that he puts up with my moods, tries to understand my feelings and laughs when I laugh and cries when I cry. Blake knows when I have had a bad day and jumps in. He goes the extra mile and doesn’t bring up past problems. I don’t know any of my faults because he doesn’t label them. He just loves me. Loves me through “that time of the month”. Loves me through another pan of brownies. Loves me through shows I want to watch and he doesn’t. Loves me through my frustration with the kids and my elation with the kids. Loves me through my dreams of writing and reading and DIY projects and new recipes. Loves me through a sweet embrace and a simple kiss and a look that says, “You can do this and you are doing this.” And he believes in me way more than I believe in myself. He is my beloved.