He awakened my style, my coolness, my smile. He embraced my femininity, my sensuality, even my poetry. He burned like Fire. Came on strong with his passion and intensity—the kind I’d freaked men out with much of my life. He said he was ALL IN and ready to bring it. He brought love like spring brings blossoms. He was an old-fashioned gentleman and a mostly reformed rebel. He called bullshit on my games and stepped up when I did the same for him, for us. We were in it for us because it was such a fun place to be, but not amusement park, disco dancing, or high-end shopping fun. It wasn’t hyper champagne, but a smooth cognac I never tasted. We didn’t overindulge, but boy did we enjoy. We didn’t hold back. We held it all in our hands and let joy fly like fairy dust. We shared the music and let it move us. We played like kids, but talked like adults—except when we backslid. But then, we recovered quick and understood more. We just kept getting better, as he said we would. It wasn’t over-the-moon, as I’d been too many times. I was grounded with his love like yoga to my entire being. I was entranced and enlightened. I dropped my old baggage at the door of his heart and went in unencumbered. I’m coming out on the other side filled. Yes, I’m being walloped by his death. But, I wouldn’t have missed our life or our love for anything. And I mean ANYTHING. So, if this is the cost, I gladly pay.