It's not the small of her back, her thighs, or her chest or eyes that matter most. It's the parts of her she's afraid to show that you should get to know.

She persisted when I resisted. And thank God for that. Because the number of storms I needed to go through before appreciating the way the wind whipped through her hair was one to many. Now, I'd move mountains to make her mine. Rain or shine.

Something about her was different that day. In an instant, she swallowed her regrets, choked back her past, and swore to make history every damn day. There I stood, struggling to make sense of the strength of a woman.

I fell in love, and she fanned my flames. They spread to soon, Quickly and uncontrollably. I had finally found the one willing to catch fire, side by side, while the world watched us burn.

When I asked her if she was afraid to fall in love, she damn near doubled over. "Afraid? My heart has been through hell and back. Yet it never quits, refuses to rest, gives without asking in return, and is deeper than the deepest sea. It's love, my dear, that should fear me." That night my heart was signed, by my one of a kind.