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The curve of her hip.
The way she moves her hair, ducking under or behind it like a curtain when she's shy or you've just started talking.
The grace with which she moves.
My heart used to melt when I was doing mine and my then-girlfriend's laundry--I'd grab one of her blouses out of the dryer to fold, and realize just how small it was. For some reason that always hit me hard--made me feel like I had to be strong yet gentle. It's hard to explain.
When she's not afraid to laugh LOUDLY.
The warmth of her skin under my hand, like a piece of satin that's been in the sun.
The trouble she goes through to look good for me.
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