We disagree about most things.
For a start he doesn’t share my faith. He leans to the right; I have leftish tendencies. I can be moved to tears by something I see; he says it’s their own fault. He’s English; I’m Welsh. I love reading; he hates books. He loves a glass of malt whiskey; I have to go to the other side of the room because I can’t bear the smell. He can tell you what model of car it is from a quick glimpse of its bumper; I'll notice that it's blue. He’s bossy; I’m put upon. He’s organised; I’m untidy. I’m easily distracted; he’s single-minded. He likes Terminator; I like Sense and Sensibility. He cleans his shoes; I can’t remember what colour mine are.
And yet we love each other. I love the way that when we’re watching the news and the reporter says something happened at Prestatyn, he’ll say ‘Press what in?’, and I love the way we both associate the same songs with events or things that happened. And sometimes I’ll say something knowing what his response will be, and if he doesn’t say it straightaway I look at him enquiringly, and he’ll realise what I’m waiting for and he’ll say it. I love it when we both say we’re dieting and then we devour a large bar of chocolate watching a video. I love it when he has a very busy day at work and I phone him and say ‘meet me for lunch?’ and he doesn't hesitate to say ‘OK’.
I love someone who’s bossy and grumpy and he loves someone who’s disorganised and selfish. Love is strange.
True love is about knowing someone really well. It’s about knowing his little habits and loving him for them. It’s about knowing his faults and loving him in spite of them.
True love can be expressed in a word, a touch, a look, a kiss or death on a cross.