My love language is a deaf mute. My love language shoulders mountains, smiling quietly, inwardly- a slowmoving idyll saturated from the soul out in private reverie. My love language is a home that sighs ageless relief under hands that have mended more than they’ve broken.

My love language is pay attention.

My love language is an act of service. My love language is acknowledging what is worth care by acting carefully. My love language walks it like it talks it, deliberate in its existence and exultant in its joy.

My love language is not afraid of conflict or discomfort, my love language is in. these. trenches. Dug the trenches, built a confessional in the trenches, plans the future from the trenches. My love language planted seeds in the trenches and we stay well fed.

My love language comes to bed with dirty hands.

My love language is holding you in my hands as you live, sifting through the selves you slough, the everything, to find the truth of honoring you. My love language is let me help. Let me see you, all of you, the kernel shivering at the core of the sift, so I can love you better. I’m rough and I will probably bruise you but I’m learning. I’ve learned much, taught well by better men than I. My love language is wanting to earn you, deserve you.

My love language is teaching myself to ease up. To be deliberate. To move as I say as I think as I am. It’s the most important thing in life, my life.