He smells like patchouli and wears sandals. He doesn't really ever say much and rubs his lip with his forefinger when he's thinking. He is the one who taught me how to parallel park in an old muscle car with no side mirror, in between two green trash cans.
He is who baptized me and who stood for an entire hour in the living room with my first serious boyfriend. He is who showed up in the parking lot to apologize.
The one who told me secrets. Who asked me the hard questions over Italian food on my 19th birthday. He is methodical and secretive and far more emotionally driven than he'd ever let on.
He doesn't know it, but he taught me to love people. He won't admit it, but it is because of him I have a deep heart for the inner city.
I have his social anxiety and his screwed up digestive system. I have his nose and thick hair.
He is the one who sat with me in the hospital the day the doctors told me my life was about to change. And he was the one who stayed up late in the hospital room, a month later after the surgery, watching West Wing while he thought I was sleeping.
He's the one who used to sleep walk ... the one who would come and eat a whole meal in the kitchen at two in the morning without ever waking up. He's the one who took me to get my first tattoo. The one who acted like he never understood when I broke up with a boyfriend - but would later connect all the dots and give me a high five.
He was the first one on the scene of my car accident.
He's the one who detaches. Who told me to have fun and take lots of pictures in Africa and who unloaded my bed in my first house and left almost immediately.
He's the one who took me to Magees for the first time. He's the one whose attention I have sought for years and years. He's the one who makes friends with my friends. Who would listen to Prairie Home Companion on the radio in the mini van.
He drove me to work for a month when I didn't have a car. He gave me my first camera.
He's the one who has never given me answers. Who quickly loses patience with my emotional baggage.
He's the one whose words pierce the deepest. Whose opinion I grew up respecting the most. He wheezes when he laughs.
He's the one whose music rocked me to sleep for most of my childhood. He's the reason why I want to find a man who can play the piano.
He's the reason I know behavior can be understood in context. He's the one who told me I was miserable. Who bought a car and drove us around, blasting Mutemath through the new speakers.
He's the one who was sitting next to me when I realized why God had kept me in Lexington.
He's the one who took me to the gym and helped change my body... change my life. He's the only one I can run with.
He's the one who has called me with a broken heart. Who called me just minutes after he proposed. He's the one with four daughters. And then three more.
He's the one who grills in the snow and takes baseball bats into doctors' offices. He's the one who taught me to drive a 5 speed and kayak on the ocean.
He's the one who took me on that walk in the rain seven years ago.
I'm not sure I've seen him hold a baby in fifteen years. Or that I've spent more than an hour at a time with him in the past year. He's the one with a totally different life than mine. Who is sometimes hard to get a hold of... whose attention is hard to keep. Whose letters I keep folded up in my Bible.
He's the one who will walk me down the aisle one day.
He's the one who my children will call Poppy.
Today is his day.
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