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My Crazy Wife

My Crazy Wife My crazy wife— not the kind the world whispers about in judgment, but the kind heaven laughs with because she is too alive, too loud with love, too fearless to be ordinary. She wakes the morning with arguments, fights the sun for rising too late, scolds the rain for falling without permission, and somehow convinces the universe to forgive her every time. Her moods change like seasons— spring in her smile, summer in her touch, autumn in her silence, and winter when she is hurt and pretends she is not. Oh, how she pretends. She says, “I’m fine,” when the world has bruised her heart. She laughs too loudly when she wants to cry alone. She is brave in ways even she does not understand. My crazy wife argues with me over nothing— over how love should be shown, over who said sorry first, over whose heart is more stubborn. Yet when the night grows heavy, it is her hand that finds mine without words, without pride. She loves fiercely, dangerously, like someone who knows love can leave but chooses it anyway. She gives everything— even when she should not, even when she is tired, even when her soul begs for rest. She is jealous sometimes, not because she doubts me, but because she feels too deeply. Her heart does not know moderation; it knows only all or nothing. My crazy wife remembers everything— every word said in anger, every promise whispered in weakness, every moment I forgot how fragile love can be. And still, she stays. She burns dinner, forgets where she left her phone, starts stories in the middle and ends them somewhere else, yet somehow keeps our world together with invisible threads of care. When she is angry, the house trembles. When she is quiet, the house listens. When she smiles, even my worst days surrender. She is chaos and comfort, storm and shelter, fire and home. My crazy wife believes in me when I do not deserve it. She fights my battles even when I push her away. She sees the man I could be and refuses to let me become less. Sometimes she breaks— not loudly, not in front of everyone, but softly, like glass wrapped in silence. And when she does, I realize how strong she has been for far too long. If loving her is madness, then let me never be sane. If choosing her is chaos, then let my life never be calm. Because in her craziness is loyalty no crown can buy, love no fear can silence, and a heart that beats for us even when the world tries to pull us apart. My crazy wife— she is not perfect, but she is mine. And in a world full of temporary things, she is my forever, in every beautiful, unpredictable, crazy way.