It’s not the vacations or the gifts.
It’s not the public eye or the carefully planned outings.
It’s not the fancy dinners or the professional photos taken.
No, it’s watching TV series in pajamas,
It’s the giggles from the tickle fights.
It’s the slumber party every night,
It’s the look of devotion caught in a moment of panic.
It’s the secrets we keep,
It’s the tears we wipe.
It’s the packed we have…
the one we never actually made.
It’s the love that’s felt more than said,
It’s the daily routine that’s our comfort.
It’s the prayers while holding hands,
In good times and even more in hardships.
It’s the home after the chaos.
It’s the rhythm of the house when everyone’s finally asleep.