"Do you love him?"

I recall my therapist asking me last session.

"Yes,"

I answered, quickly, softly, and with all the warmth I had left.

"How do you know you love him?"

And I couldn't help but smile as I stammered out an answer,
Tears rushing to my eyes.

"Do you know what it's like to be colorblind?"

I wanted to ask.

"I have the opposite problem,"
I wanted to start.
"I see too many colors. Too much input, and it all plays out as a spinning wheel of color and light." I wanted to explain.

"But because of all the constant input of some type of color scheme, nothing makes sense."

And as I sighed, and gave my answer to him,
The much less complicated,
"He is kind, and loving, and smart, and understanding."

I desperately wanted to say, "My Bluebird makes me smile when I don't think I even remember how to. And it's because with him, the colors finally make sense."

And I know I should have said it. But how do I say it simply?

"Everything makes sense when I'm with him. That is how I know I love him."