You would think a person might be easy to describe in words, but he most certainly isn't. He has always been beautiful in every sense of the word. He is deep eyes that sparkle slightly and lips that speak with a tone made for a man of thirty and not a boy of eighteen. He wakes up early for cartoons and stays up late only to make 11:11 wishes. He is intelligent-wise beyond his years in the subjects that count. He is the one filling up my inbox with words that I almost always believe. He has this way of making people feel like they're pretty, like they're important, like they matter . He has a way of making even the most simple things fun. He tries his hardest at everything, and he means it. He doesn't like hugs much for someone who loves so well. But he makes up for that with love that is pure and seemingly unconditional. It's hard to mind the nights that he's sleep deprived because he says the sweetest things when he's tired. He'd like to think that he's immune to crying, but when he stays up much too late he tends to over think. He'd never show you such a fragile side of himself, but I imagine he'd be beautiful, even in tears. His lungs breathe in toxins and exhale perfection. I know already that I'll count seconds until he's here again. He's not even gone yet, but I miss him already.