You are clever and kind, capable and humble. You’re self-assured without being [too] arrogant. You carry your confidence quietly. You are impossibly even-keeled, nothing ever seems to rattle you. I’ve not known you to have a temper, or ever be ugly with anger.
Your quiet presence is reassuring, like sitting under a peaceful starry sky at the edge of the ocean when it lays down at night. You exude adventure, and that is endlessly exciting. You are diligent, always watchful and aware, without sacrificing a childlike playfulness.
You are the perfect elixir of keeper and protector, but also court jester. You don’t give up jovial at the expense of intensity. You are schoolboy naive, and that is ever endearing. I often want to climb into your lap and stay a while, a very long while, or as long as you will tolerate sitting in the stillness with me.
I don’t know how to fold these feelings back up small enough to pack them away into a back pocket. I can’t seem to find the original creases to refold the edges neatly, like a map that’s never been opened, revealing the possibilities. I want to keep the light from saturating the colorful lines because that would only make the potential real.