All my life, I always thought about who my husband would be. What he'd look like. How tall he would be. What things he would like and dislike.
I thought I had it all figured out. I knew exactly the man I wanted. From what kind of music he liked, to what he would look like.
I set standards that looking back on now, don't even matter to me. I remember telling myself that if he wasn't taller than me, I would never date him. Never even give him the chance.
Looking at that now, it seems so stupid. I would never in a million years give up the love that I have, for something like height or music taste.
The things that matter to me now seem so completely different. I care about his goals, his career, his passions, his opinions.
I care about what he wants. From the type of pet to his dream job.
I care about how he stutters when he's nervous. How he waves his hands around because he doesn't know what to do with them. How he looks the cutest to me when his hair is all messed up.
I care about all the little things, but also so much about the big things.
I care about...him.
