I look at her, with her perfect red hair, her perfect hands that are capable of doing of every mans job at a capacity higher than a man can complete, her pale freckled skin and her garden tan, and the way her glasses sit in her nose. I think of her brilliance. How she is just always right, and so full of knowledge and life skills that are so far gone from the average person. I see perfection in everything she says and does, and cant help but worship the ground she walks on because brilliance emanates from her very being. I watch her at home. Undervalued and unnapreciated to every degree. She cooks everything by hand, EVERYTHING. A true grace that no person gets to experience. She keeps house, she gardens, she parents, and still goes off to work a full time job only to come home and care for everyone again. And there are no thanks to be found. An incubator for the next baby, she care for herself but only as she is reminded, for she is too occupied with lifes trials to remember to hydrate. Sometimes if I'm lucky I get to rub her feet, wash her dishes, and take care of her. Sometimes I get to kiss her, and on my luckiest days I get to fully appreciate her in her naked beauty and make love to her until she cries out my name. Then we sleep, I hold her though the night and wake up to kiss her beautiful belly, kiss her stretch marks and tell her how much I love her. And as we lay in bed waking up I look at the ring on her finger that reminds me that no matter how much she loves me, no matter how much I can show my love and care for her, I will still be her little secret.
