I'm so enthralled by all that he is.

"Unimaginable," I used to scoff at the idea of someone like him existing.

He gets my jokes, my Will Ferrell quotes, my movies references...

I felt an overwhelming tenderness towards him when I woke up beside him Saturday morning. A feeling of "I need nothing but this," and I nearly gasped at my own thought process.

So soon? It is so early on, and yet I should think these things?

I wanted to squeeze him tightly 'til the day was night again.

I can never get enough of kissing him. I could never grow weary of those lips, nor of his perfect body and flawless skin.

I can see his adoration as he lays kisses upon my hips. I feel something I have yet to identify when he looks into my eyes as we make love.

He explores me in an almost curious fashion. He looks at me, watches me, nearly reverential, and I feel loved.

"But why," I ask myself in wonderment, "does he do this?"

Am I so spectacular to him, or has he treated all his lovers as such?

It's already terribly upsetting to imagine him with anyone else.

However, there is no erasing the past, and that is the way of it. (I myself would much rather "undo" all lovers but he.)

My breasts are not the first he has kissed, and I am not the first women he has ventured in to. And no, I am not the first he has whispered to in the dark. But, alas, I am already hoping to be the last.

It is hard to be optimistic when so little in life has gone well. I do not doubt his character or his intentions, but I do question "fate."

He told he's all mine, and it only furthered my desire to fall in love with him. I have to ask myself, though, "Is that what he wants?"

Strange, I have found, I do not dream as I sleep beside him. Perhaps it is because he is already there...