He possessed a delightful blend of mischievousness and affection. Kind and considerate, he had a knack for remembering the little things and always watching out for me. He was adept at lifting my spirits and never settled for calling me simply "pretty," always opting for "gorgeous" or "beautiful." His joy came from seeing the smile on my face, valuing it far more than any physical aspect. He possessed an innate understanding of my needs, sparing me the burden of explanation. He embodied a gentleman's grace but knew when to set it aside, transitioning seamlessly from friend to lover, from saint to sinner. He exuded a mature masculinity, naturally assuming the role without needing to be placed on a pedestal. He was a beautiful, authentic soul, a free fucking spirit I was thankful to know.