You have only said "I love you" a few times. When I listen to what you do instead of what you say, though, it is there.
I was afraid, when I met you, of not being good enough, of being permanently broken. You sat with me, listened to me, worked through pain with me, and held me when I cried. You learned what hurt and you helped it heal. You made it safe for me to be myself without trying to fit to what you wanted; all you wanted, all you want, is me.
I came home in the cold and the snow one night, exhausted and sad. You told me to take a hot shower and relax. You fed me dinner you had made, adjusting spices to my taste instead of yours. You gave me a glass of wine and let me talk about the day, good and bad. You had warmed up the bed, so when we climbed in and turned off the lights we were in a comfortable, warm, safe cave, tucked into each other. You held me as I slept. You let me have the night to let go of everything.
We have been through joy, grief, laughter, and pain, and now a future we never imagined has opened up in front of us. It is different, but not necessarily worse. We are adjusting.
Despite it all, because of it all, we are still together.
I love you for your stability, your humor, your cooking, your patience. I love that I still smile every time I see you. I love that we make each other laugh, and I love that we can be each others' support when life hurts past bearing.
You are my center. You are what I come back to, what I yearn for, what brightens the day and makes the nights safe. You are my laughter and sometimes my anger. You are the safe place I never had, and you do not make me feel weak for wanting that safety.
You are stronger than you know; you have given me strength and loved me as myself.