He loves Jesus. He loves cheese. He is thoughtful and kind-hearted. He has a motorcycle. He loathes insects. He builds canoes. He sends me books of poetry. He writes me blindingly brilliant letters. He makes up words. He tells me stories that make me laugh until I hurt. He uses funny accents (and is really quite adept at it) when telling them. He describes my skin using words like "caramel." He loves to hear me laugh. He likes me in a dress. He handcrafts boxes out of beautiful golden wood that are custom made (and polished and lacquered) to hold stacks of my favorite kind of cookies (peanut butter of course), which he also sends to me. He actually exists. I've only met him once.