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Two things about him fascinated me: His hands and his eyes.

His hands, slender like a pianist's, but strong and sure and calloused like a laborer's, can hold mine with the tenderness of a lover or pull me back from the brink of death. His hands can comfort a fussy child or repair a Humvee. His hands can cup my face with the warmth and gentleness of the sun itself or hold a man in anger with a grip like a vise. His hands can flip the pages of a book or fly over a keyboard. His hands can do his work or carry out his will to do another's.

His eyes are the exact deep blue of the sea at sunrise. His eyes are the heart he wears on his sleeve, and yet the mysterious shade of an enigma. His eyes glow with an innate kindness that's as much a part of him as his skin, his eyes blaze with the determination that builds his very core. His eyes are sharp with a worldly knowledge, his eyes cloud with an inner stillness and self control.

He is a mechanic and a scholar, a dear friend and so much more. He is a playful boy and a responsible man.

Maybe I am so fascinated with the word “paradox” because it defines the man I love.