It's her.

It's the way she clicks the pen against her teeth when we're doing crosswords.

It's the way she reaches for my hand when we're walking.

It's how cool she looks when typing shortcuts on her Mac.

It's the sound she makes after taking a sip of Pepsi.

It's her knowing grin from the other end of the couch when a show is getting really good.

It's the way her fingers interlock across the back of her phone.

It's the way she laughs--and hard--after demanding that I repeat a word or a joke or re-sing a made-up song.

It's her ability to immediately stain a shirt or tangle a cord.

It's her inability to throw away a gum wrapper.

It's her understanding of me even when I don't understand myself.

It's the way she mothers that little boy.

It's her bravery. It's her strength. It's her intensity.

It's that this one time she made me a website.

It's that we share a panty drawer and sock drawer and pajama drawer.

And a bed.

And a life.


It's that I love her.