Sometimes I’m overwhelmed (is that the right word? maybe it’s just “amazed” or “taken aback”…) by how much I love my boyfriend. I’ve always been the first one to mime puking whenever I see some teenybopper girl declaring her undying love to the boy in her life, but right now I guess I’m in that position, despite my age. I adore my boyfriend. He’s just amazing. I love the look of him, and the feel of him, and the smell of him. I love the way he makes me laugh, and the way he makes me think. I love the way he brews his coffee, and the way he curls up under the blankets with one foot stretched out to keep cool. I love the way he thinks, and that he really pays attention to me when I’m sharing some thought that’s taken me ages to spit out. I love that his mind is always racing with new stories, and I love watching him bring those stories to life on paper. I love the way he holds my hand when I’m anxious, and that he never judges me for being sad, or scared, or not having the energy to face the world that day. I love that he picks his battles wisely, and I love how he articulates his thoughts when he finally does walk into the fray. I love how he connects the dots, and how he helps me connect them, too. I love how much he loves his friends, and how much they adore him. I’m so lucky. Please don’t let me fuck this up.