Today I was in the kitchen making his favorite soup. He walked by and gently touched my waist from behind. I didn't even turn around, just said, "Stop it, the oil will splatter." But secretly, I smiled. Eighteen years, and he's still the silly one who sneaks up on me, and I'm still the one pretending not to notice. Some people are like that — their words say they're annoyed, but their hearts have long since carved the other's name into every bone and vein. Love was never meant to be spoken; it's meant to be lived.