Love and Pride

You laid the floor. It took hours and hours of hard labour. But the floor was laid.

You bled for me on that floor; the hard white edges cut through the skin on your hands and fingers, teardrops of rubies fell onto its surface like red rain onto snow.

Something swelled inside of me when I returned to find you on hands and knees, bleeding but still dogged, still determined, still fitting the pieces together and my head was dizzy with a mixture of love and pride.

I am unsure whether I will feel anything even vaguely like it again.