I love marshmallows. I love Basset hounds. I love the smell of fresh-cut grass. I love sunlight. And I love the way a baby feels in your arms, all squishy and warm.

I love old people. Love to hear them speak. Love to hear them laugh. Love to hear them tell stories of olden times.

I love old-school baseball. When pitchers still batted. And well-told jokes. The kind of jokes so good that, after their telling, bystanders are required to change their respective undergarments.

And really good chocolate. Not cheap dollar-store chocolate that tastes like chapstick. I’m talking about real chocolate, so rich, so dark, so intense, that it would be classified, legally speaking, as an act of negligence not to finish the entire chocolate bar.

I love the way children ask honest questions. “How do plants grow?” “Why can’t animals talk?” “Am I pretty?” And I love how quickly a child can let go of anything that makes them sad.

I love little storefronts, in little towns, with little bells on the doors, and passionate shopowners behind the counters.

I love grits. I love oscillating fans. I love it when elderly women and young women hook arms as they walk down the street. I love watching dads and sons play catch.

I love going barefoot. I love music created by intelligence that is not artificial. I love good writing. I love journalism that isn’t clickbait. I love corn chips.

I love it whenever I see someone stoop to pick up a piece of litter on a sidewalk, especially if they don’t think anyone is watching.

I love the teenage girl who stopped her car yesterday, blocking traffic, hazards blinking, and exited her vehicle to move a turtle from the middle of a busy highway.

I love moms who still keep cookies in cookie jars. And dads who still know how to sharpen their own pocketknives. I love people who are brave enough to be different. Especially when they know they will be ostracized for it.

I love the way iced tea tastes when it’s served in glassware, not Styrofoam. I love butterflies. Real peanut butter. And weddings where people cry.

I love people who consider themselves unattractive, overweight, or unlovely. I love people who were abused by someone they trusted.

I love people who are damaged, beaten by life, who have more issues than Life Magazine.

I love people who sincerely think they aren’t smart. I love people who choose to go last. I love people who wish for something that will likely never come true, but they keep wishing anyway.

I love peacemakers. I love those who grieve. I love people who smile, even though they hurt inside. I love people who feel like they aren’t enough. I love anyone who is contemplating self harm. I love people who read boring internet articles written by a guy they’ve never even met.

And most of all, I love you.