My man,
How can I describe him? Really. He's that scent, that unmistakable, indescribable scent of him, and occasionally the scent of a freshly lit menthol cigarette - a scent that is growing more familiar and sexy by the day. He's that taste, the taste of butter and salt and cream and manliness, the taste of coffee and the taste of toothpaste. He's that strange touch of warmth in my once bleakly cold life, the constantly warm, familiar, yielding skin that feels so good against my own. He's that feel of soft hair underneath my fingertips, the low moan escaping onto my kiss, the amusing, sleepy morning semi pressing into my back. He's the pair of utterly unique eyes that look at me, sometimes, as though I'm completely crazy, completely exasperating, completely amazing and completely beautiful all at once. He's the pair of arms that hold me safely tight as I jolt awke from yet another disturbing dream. He's the sound of a stupid laugh that never ceases to make me grin; he's the steady, even breath that keeps me grounded at night; he's the feeling of weakness as an "I love you" is whispered onto my mouth. He's safety, he's warmth, he's comfort. He's red sofas and cans of Stella and songs on the radio and French toast. He's jealousy and trust, worry and reassurance, insecurity and self-confidence. He's everything. And he's completely indescribable.