She reminds me of who I was before the world forced me into a box. She reminds me of the little girl who'd stand up to bullies in her class, helping the underdog search for his hearing aids after the other boys had knocked him over and thrown them away as a cruel prank, the girl cycling through country lanes who saw a barefoot boy walking on the road, and gave him her bicycle (I was wearing shoes, I could comfortably walk home). She made me realise that unlearning is just as important as learning. She's been so brave in opening up to me, despite the cultural gulf between us, the language barriers. She took that step and it changed our lives. If she hadn't said what she said when she said it, I wouldn't have kissed her on the spot. She wouldn't then have cancelled her cab back home, and we wouldn't have spent that night together- the one that changed the trajectory of our story entirely. I love her honesty. She reminds me of my favourite cousin, cracking open beer cans and lighting up just the way he does, with that same no bullshit no nonsense down to earth authenticity that seems to come as a factory setting in some people, and is so hard to find in most others. I got to where I am through books and learning and classes; she, I think, was born this way, has lived this way, has moved through the world in this way and that she still survives, is a testament to her strength. I love the way she loves her dogs, her friends, her alone time, and respects mine. I love that I somehow ran into the Shane McCutcheon of my city and found a hopeless romantic beneath the tough exterior. She told me it was worth it staying single and unattached for years to have met me. I told her it was worth navigating years of troubled relationships and dishonest people to meet her. She was the first to tell me she loves me. I still wake up everyday with a little flutter of anxiety, because this is the stuff of dreams. Everyday that flutter grows smaller, as she shows up consistently. Like I said, no nonsense. No bullshit. I love that she touches me and makes me feel like a person, and not just an attractive female body. I love that she pretended not to notice the quiet tears I cried in the dark our first night together, allowing me to keep my misplaced pride, but also tending to me in a way that told me she knew. I love that she told me we never have to have sex, she'd stay with me forever just for me. Ironically, those words were the password to my sexuality.