You smell like everything familiar. You smell like soap, sunshine, the outdoors, strength, comfort. When I'm away from you, I catch whiffs of you at random... your smell seems to eminate from everything. From the seat cushions, from my hair, from the book I'm reading, from my very skin. You're everywhere, even when you're not.
You love breakfast just as much as I do. And big, hefty, lumberjack breakfasts. Bacon and homefries? Anyone?
You, my darling, have the innate ability to make even the most mundane person feel entertaining and charming. You listen, but actively, with ears perked, with an interested expression, leaning forward. You ask questions. You listen not because you feel you should, but because you actually care. This is a gift. I appreciate you for caring. For listening. For wanting to know more, always. For always making me feel as if what I have to say is not only valid, not only right, but more importantly... essential.
Your skin. It's soft. It's smooth. It smells clean, and it's warm. In fewer words... perfect.
The freckle right under your hairline, on the back of the neck. Everything leads me there. It's my nexus, my lodestar. The soft, gentle curve of your beautiful neck points right to it. And it will never be anyone else's. It's my claim on you, right there, back there, small, hidden... mine.
You love to read. Darling, this is essential. You love books, love everything about books, love quirky books, charming books, deep books, the books that make you weep, laugh out loud. Regardless of what genre, you're game. And I can always count on good literature for Christmas.
Those goddam ridiculous glasses you picked up during that hiking trip. 'Nuff said.
You make me laugh. I will grow old with you, laughing, laughing, laughing.
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