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Loving her is like the morning dew - not crisp and cold, but refreshing and sweet; drops of candied sugar on each and every blade of grass before me.
It is like clean sheets on a soft bed for an exhausted body; like the wonderment and possibility of what lies beyond a horizon thick with fog.
It's like raindrops as the weather breaks, running for cover as we giggle and cling to one another in an effort to stay dry.
It's like the smoke from burning incense, curling itself around the room and leaving its soft heady scent on all that it touches.
It's like nothing else. And yet, heavy with warm familiarities and comforts, loving her is like home.