Let me count the ways... On one hand.

She sits next to me. Typing away on her computer as she watches Lost on my request (she's hooked now).

She grabs my leg, telling me in no words at all, "Stop fidgeting your leg or I'll chop it off, drive into the Outback and force feed it down a dingo's throat!"

Then she flashes a look at me, the, "I'm not kidding." look.

And whether she notices it or not, there's a smile with that look. The "I love you, even if your fidgety leg makes me seasick" smile.

She asks me all the time, "Why do you love me?"

I give her the same answer every time. An answer she's never happy with.

It's not that it's not a good answer. It's just that it's an answer she doesn't understand.

So she asks for more reasons. And I offer them, a list as it were of all the things that I love about her.

And like Shakespeare, I can count the ways.

But unlike Shakespeare. I don't like to. Cause I have the perfect reason why I love this woman with every fibre of my being.

I love her cause of her. And all the little things that encompasses her. More things that I could ever say in a lifetime, but all things I could love in this one.

Don't tell her, though.

Cause she'll ask for another reason shortly after.