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He calls me Goddess and I call him HoneyBunch.

Our eighth anniversary is right around the corner.  HoneyBunch and I were just discussing how our eight years together have been the easiest years of our lives. Eight years is a good amount of time, yet it has sped by. It feels like we have always been together, yet we were married for long amounts of time to others and we have grown children to prove it.
HoneyBunch is my true soul mate; the kind one reads about in romance novels.  He is the true love one writes about in journals. He is the knight in shining armor discussed in legends. What makes him so easy to love is that he is a true gentle man.
To say I love him is not sufficient. There is no word in our language to describe what this man means to me. He is my friend, my lover, my husband, my critic, my comfort, my true other half. 
 He has never done one thing that would make me lose my trust, my respect, or my affection for him, but he is not perfect.  He does sometime annoy me or cause me to roll my eyes in embarrassment or boredom.
He forgets to replace the toilet paper when it is his fault it got down to nothing but the brown cardboard roll or he takes the last bit of coffee in the 12-cup pot every single morning when he knows I never get a second cup. He never just answers my questions. Oh no, he has to first go through long, long historical or political explanations before surrendering a simple yes or no.
Yet, he is irreplaceable in my life. It is an honor and a joy to be his wife.
Sometimes I wish we had met when we were younger so we could have forged our lives and careers together, raised our kids together, shared more time together.  I wish I could brag on the double digit, multi-decades we have been together instead of . . . eight, but he reminds me that our lives had to travel different paths before we could appreciate the rich present we have with each another now.

I love this man and for the first time in my life, I feel comforted in that love. 

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