Somewhere in the vague infatuation that launched our relationship, my Gay Old Soulmate suggested that we should make it a ritual to tell each other, “I love you” each night before we slept.

In thirty years of falling to sleep beside him, those I love yous have had many nuances. At times, we spoke them with utter gratitude for the unimaginable good fortune of finding each other. At other times, we forced them past gritted teeth. But when the words came with the most difficulty, that was when we most needed the reminder that, beneath anger or alienation, a commitment tied us to each other’s welfare and growth. We were not being hypocritical—we were being intentional.

At heart, love is not a feeling but a way of living. Those nightly I love yous acknowledge that our life binds us together even when we least want to be. They tell me that I still want the best for my Gay Old Soulmate and he wants the best for me. In the moment, we cannot always see whether “the best” will be possible. But we choose to pursue wholeness in each other, in ourselves, and in our relationship. Of course, a little phrase is not enough. The intention must translate into hard work. Even after thirty years, we can find ourselves misinterpreting each other’s words or negotiating conflicting needs and desires. Love involves the constant commitment to that hard but rewarding work.

People ask us the secret to thirty years. No magical romance ties us, although the romance magically returns, again and again, throughout our lives. After the rifts. After the resentments and miscommunications. When the hard work of understanding ourselves and each other and the relationship has first exhausted us and then, finally, brought us to a new plane, we hold each other more tightly than we did our first night. And the I love yous provide a context in which we want to try again. Each night’s I love you plants a seed that grows to hold the soil in place when some flood or drought threatens the ever-growing flower of our relationship.

Now, as we head into our thirty-first year, I realize that I am more in love with my Gay Old Soulmate than ever. The I love you he hears from me, as we hold each other tonight before drifting off to sleep, will be full of that renewed infatuation that only thirty years of saying it could produce.