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I love the way he walks —- with sure, decisive footsteps paving a pathway to me. I love the intense look he gives when he is concentrating on something he can’t wrap his head around, the same intensity his eyes stare to command mine to do the same back. I love the lopsided grin of his lips, which he sheepishly makes after colluding with what I’m sure is only stupidity itself. There are a thousand ways to say this, and a thousand more to affirm it. But I wouldn’t, because need I even say more?