We found ourselves at each other’s throats again on this plain Tuesday night.

Such an odd thing it is, hurling such disparaging remarks at a lover over something as simple as a dirty plate left out overnight.

Because beneath the soured face and bared teeth you present to me now, I see what each day with you offers.

The sensation of fingers uniting with my own, accompanied with the usual peck on my temple.

Hurried footsteps down the hall eager to reach that jar on the top shelf for me.

A pair of earrings I gushed about at the store last weekend and an apology for being late that night— you rushed to get them after work before the shop closed.

Scraping cutlery on plates, laughter resounding through the house as we recall the awkwardness of our first date and pour another glass of wine.

It is in this moment of disaccord that I am reminded of why I bother, for anyone could stand where I find myself now.

But for it to be me, bickering with you over the towels on the floor or the old food in the fridge, is to have a place in your life and heart.

That is my greatest reward.