rico.

It's honestly very strange to spend nights without my boyfriend.

I'm used to his company, whether it's feeling his sometimes too-hot body warmth with mine or to just hear the tenor notes of his voice. He never fails to leave a smile on my face, unless I'm particularly annoyed with him. I can't remember my life before him.

I could - and already have spent hours talking to him. With him, conversation never seems forced or staccato, it's always a continuous flow of thought. Passing from him to myself, the oddest part is when he finishes my sentences and I'm always pleasantly startled. He shares my eclectic music taste, seems somewhat fascinated with my tendency to swing from horrifically obsessive to the attention span of a goldfish, and appreciates whatever goes on in this strange place that I call my brain.

I love him. I really do.

As my partner-in-crime for any and all of my Despicably Devilish Plot Devices, he's my everything. I can't be jaded and cynical all the time and if the world only ever gave me one amazing thing, that would be him. I've learned more from him in the past year and a half than I learned from two people over the course of three years.

Being without him now gives me time to reflect and look at him, really look at him - because I rarely ever get to do so. I know he's observing me as much I do him but at the same time, I never really get to form coherent commentary because I'm busy living the moment. I never did that before, with anyone else. They made me retreat into my own head and ponder memories I had with them, since the reality was relatively dull or repetitive. Perhaps this is the spark I've been looking for, someone who would inspire me to live. Someone who would challenge my self-imposed limits and test me so thoroughly that I force my way through them, like a butterfly from a chrysalis.

The love of my life is an amazing, wonderful man who decided to take a risk on me. I can never thank him enough for that. If you're reading this, you know I love you.