Never taking her for granted.
He basked in the glory that was her.
It was the little things really.
The tiny crescent scar on her breast.
The way she didn't know left from right without looking at her hands.
The long line of definition down her calves.
It was her crooked smile from sucking her lip as she twirled her hair.
It was her bare arms and tiny wrists that made him want her so much.
Sure she drove him crazy with her need to drink from the milk carton.
Her protest against a full ice tray.
It was the way she shaved with his razor.
Her panties on the bathroom floor.
Her moisturizer spilled on the counter.
The way she would make him get up just to put the toilet seat down.
Her inability to sit still during a movie.
The way she never flipped her calendar when she found a picture she liked.
Her watercolours left on the coffee table.
He admired the tiny hairs on the back of her neck.
The mole on her ear.
It was the way the space between her shoulder blades deepened when she hugged.
The way she jumped when he touched her hip.
Sighed when he touched her thigh.
It was the softeness of her stomach
Her perfumed shampoo.
The divot on her neck that expanded with each breath.
It was the way she found him in the dark, and looked for him in the light.
He adored the fire in her eyes when she cried.
It was her faked confidence.
Her need to be needed.
Her stubborn compromise.
Her want of passionate arguement.
The way she spoke her mind regardless of consequence.
How she made him laugh when he wanted to scream.
Stay when he wanted to leave.
Her know it all looks and admitting grins.
It was the way she held him tighter than he wanted and wouldn't let go.
