Love isn't big expensive gestures. Love isn't being lavished with gifts. Love isn't bunches of flowers, no matter how perfect any or all of the above are.
Love is going out of your way to give my god-daughter a lift to Ashburnham, even though it meant you were caught up so badly in the Friday traffic.
Love is knowing when I need a neck rub to calm me down.
Love is spending your free time doing tech work I should have done to make sure I got some free time too.
Love is sitting in the dark with me when I have a migraine, holding me and rubbing my forehead when that technically broke all the purpling rules.
Love is getting my hot chocolate once I'm upright again because moving hurts my head.
Love is you, Mr Drummer Boy. And I'm so glad you're all mine.