I love sand dollars, intact but with imperfect, chipped edges.
I love honeysuckle that drips with sweet dew.
I love books that make me feel — angry, heartbroken, aroused, ecstatic. The emotion does not matter as long as it is not boredom.
I love my sons’ hugs, even the ones that come after they’ve sweated for hours on a ball field.
I love songs that remind me of first crushes, awkward dances and heated kisses.
I love eyes that embrace my soul.
I love a perfectly timed text, phone call or email that makes me smile … or wet.
I love sipping on a good cava and eating foods that make me feel like a queen.
I love his fingers running through my long hair. And fisting it unexpectedly, taking my breath away.
I love losing myself behind the lens of a camera and finding art in nature.
I love writing a piece that makes another feel. The emotion does not matter as long as it is not disappointment.
I love sea foam that rides the ocean breeze like a dandelion.
I love the security in knowing that each night, he dreams of me.
I love having the capacity to love … and the blessing of being loved.