I am a cat person. I am a night person. An outside, autumn, sing-at-the-top-of-your-lungs, fall-down-every-set-of-stairs person.

I’m a letter writing person.

I quickly gathered that he was a punctual person. He was a black-raspberry-coffee-soft-serve-twist person. He was a hat, thunderstorm, think-outside-the-box, sing-every-word-and-if-you-don’t-know-them-make-them-up person.

He was an amazing person.

I’ve never encountered many situations in my life when I’ve been at a loss for words. As a writer, it’s my job to always know the perfect thing to say. But when I was around him, I just didn’t know what to do with myself.

He was a leave-me-speechless person.

We were driving in his car on the way back to my house when he looked at me with his incredibly striking baby-blues. It was a long moment before his eyes returned to the road. He turned the car down a side street.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“We’re going on a detour,” he said. Because he was a detour-taking person.

And I loved him for it.