he is
not the kind of guy you would imagine growing old with,
not because he wouldn't make a good father,
quite the contrary,
but because it's hard to wrap your mind around him
not
being
young

he smiles strangely sometimes, kind of an awkward perfect U shape, but it makes me laugh and sometimes I wonder if he does it on purpose
his freckles are like stars, and sometimes I wish I could trace them with a soft finger, just to see if Orion or the Little Dipper will appear in the folds of his cheeks when he laughs, or remain hidden in the creases in his eyes
and he'll say the strangest things, like he's got nothing to lose
he gets passionate about things I don't give a **** about
like calculus, permutations and ****, as if he could calculate Life

strap Life to a chair and torture out its confessions, brandishing a TI-Inspire
his eyes glow sometimes, and he doesn't believe in oxymorons or paradoxes
he counts cards at Blackjack, but he'll let me win because he knows how much of a sore loser I am, and he
gives the best hugs in the world

not because they're warm and make me feel like I'm flying
but because of how awkward and gangly his arms feel,
and how reluctant the embrace is, like he's holding something back
and its the promise and awkwardness and

realness

of the hug that
makes them so

great.