I have fallen in love with a man. I know, such a silly thing to do. I could not help the force which pulled me. He makes my heart flutter and my stomach rise and, sometimes, my words stutter. I cannot name a reason I love him. Perhaps it is the way he understands me. Perhaps it's how his hand laces with mine. Or how he accepts my silly moods along with my melancholy side. Or that he loves my definitely not mainstream yet not quite Lolita style. It's how we can sit, he playing his video game and me lost in my book, never saying a word to each other and yet we are happier than to do either alone. It's how the silence does not need to be filled. It's how he seems to enjoy my lunches, though I often hate them myself. It's how he invites my friends to his events so I can be more comfortable. It's how he is everything a best friend should be. It's how his lips brush mine in that moment when his eyes gaze into mine. It's how he changed the music on his i-pod to include my genres as well. It's how he checks my blog. It's how he can look at my smiling face and ask what's wrong. It's how he understands my delicate balance of feminism and domesticity. It's none of this, yet all of this. These are the things he does because he loves me, and thing I notice because I love him, but these are not the reason I love him. Or perhaps they are. Perhaps it is just a pulling of two hearts together. Or, most likely, there may be no reason at all. Perhaps I just love him, and that is the end of the story. Suppose I've never truly know or be able to express just why, but I will never be able to deny that I do, love him wholly.