By July, I had learned.
I wrote down the kind of man I wanted and, more importantly, how I wanted to feel. I promised myself that until I found that, I wouldn’t let just anyone in.
And then I did. I just didn’t know it would happen so fast.
It felt fated.
When I met him, I couldn’t find a “but,” a reason to hesitate — not even distance was enough to put me off. We just work, and I’m genuinely happy.
Since he came into my life, it feels like many things have quietly fallen into place.
He’s been honest about his intentions without making fake promises, and I value that deeply. He makes me feel safe, loved, and cared for. It’s been five months, and I’ve cherished every single one of them.
I love it. I love the way he looks at me — soft, present, a little in love. I love how he touches me and how close he makes me feel. I love that he’s my first thought in the morning and my last at night. I love the scent of his perfume, the shape and rosiness of his lips, the clarity of his eyes, and how, when I look into them, I see that deep, dark amber within.
I love his involuntary hiccups, the way he carries himself, how funny he is, and how he laughs at the stupid things I say. I love that my grandmother adores him, that he remembers what I was wearing when we first kissed, and that it’s his favorite memory — because that’s when everything clicked for him.
I love how gentle he was the first time we made love, and how careful he always is with my well-being. I love that I trust him completely. I love how strong his presence feels, even with the distance and our daily routines keeping us apart. I love being in his arms and how hard it is to let him go every Sunday night.
I love that I never feel anxious or unsure about where we stand — that he gives me reassurance without me having to ask. I love that he cares for me, that he’s glad we met, and the anticipation I feel whenever I know he’s about to show up in my front yard.
He’s alright.
I can’t wait to see him soon.
