i look at her like her face like it was taken straight from the cover of a magazine.  her freckles line perfectly across the bridge of her nose and under her eyes, ending right before her face becomes her ears.  pink disintegrates her pale cheeks away every time she gets embarrassed or laughs too hard.  her hair meets at the awkward length right above her breasts.  her irises are a deep ivy green that see everything in such an exotic way.  her lips are plump and so soft, so fragile that each time her lips meet mine i’m afraid i am going to break them.  in the winter they’re delicately cracked, but each kiss is as soft as in any season.  she is so eclectic.  her outfits never match, but i’d never tell her that because she puts passion into each one.  the way she gets excited about everything projecting her ecstaticness onto every wall and every building in our small town.  she makes our small, simplistic, bland apartment so colorful and so large with her personality. when we get intimate, she is so shy, reluctant to take things further, insecurity taking over, but i remind her of how damn beautiful she is.  she is just the most beautiful person and thing i have ever seen and god damn i am so lucky to be in love with her.  this love is beautiful.  this love is fresh but so old school.  this love is a newborn baby.  this love is waking up late on a snowy december morning in the warm embrace of someone who keeps you safe.  and each time we say “i love you” to each other, her small lips quiver and she is afraid to be in love, but she is so deep in love and i’m so deeply in love with her fear of this magical whirlwind.  this love is so good and so free and so genuine.