It was the adrenalin rush from the heat of battle. The scent of sweat drenched leather: musky, masculine, intoxicating. The sensation of every stitch of fabric with each renewed grip. Or the delicious texture of metal against a sweaty palm. The tips of fingers ghosting over exposed skin. Or the unbearable burn of alcohol against an open wound. It was knowing the difference between a sigh and an exhale. Hearing the sharp whip of the fabric on his body in the torrential wind of an oncoming storm. It was the gentle rise and fall of his chest in the silent moments before sunrise. All of the playfulness of feather pillows soaring through the air to the rhythm of boisterous laughter. The saccharine aftertaste of a freshly peeled tangerine. The electric jolt from waking due to the sensation of falling. It was the infinitesimal changes in his demeanor; every movement like a song that was meant to be played only by him. The satin touch of the back of his hand. It was the sound of pure ecstasy finding its way into the evening air. The shuddering anticipation of a wave returning to shore.
It was him. His love. His everything.
One could spend years compiling all the comparisons and examples of him, and what it feels like to be in love with him, but none would ever do it justice. There will never be a way to describe how flawless his smile is, especially the shy grins he lets slip when he thinks no one is looking. How the right corner of his mouth tugs to be released before the left side catches up and demands equal attention. How his lips taste like the first drops of rain on a summer afternoon. With all the poems in the universe, there will never be one to adequately describe the color of his eyes. One could say they encapsulate the essence of being welcomed home after never knowing what home really was. One could also say they are lighting and fire, the ocean and the wind, all contained and only unleashed when necessary but forever looming as a warning. No matter what they say, something will always be missing.
However, one thing will always remain as a constant truth:
I love him.