The first time I said the words "I love you", was not the first time I told you I loved you. The very first time was when you had come home from work. I didn't hear from you for a couple of hours. Not entirely unusual, but you know me, I'm a worrier. You finally texted me and after a brief exchange of words, you asked me to call you. Of course I did without hesitation; calling you had become my favorite part of every day. You told me you had been crying. Really crying. I remember the feeling in my stomach, the immediate urge to run to where you were, to wage a war against whatever it was that had caused you that much pain. To hold you. Verbally, I've never been good with words. I wanted to say so much. I could have said it then. After a drawn out pause, I told you "I want to take care of you". Maybe you knew, maybe you didn't. I think my heart knew before I did that I loved you. But I meant it then, more than anything. Still do.