He loved the way she always seemed
lost in her imagination.
He loved the way how
when it came to minor details
she always paid attention.

He loved the way she wrote on
napkins
and flyers
and her arms
or anything in reach
whenever an idea struck her.

He loved the way she always had ink
somewhere on her body
no matter how hard she tried
to scrub it off.
The ink was a sign of her dedicaton
to her most recent project.
He often kissed the marks of dedication
as a sign of his dedication
to her.

He loved the way she stayed up
into all hours of the night
just to get her thoughts
down as bold, black words
in her favorite notebook.

He loved the story within her.
He loved her
and all the characters
she came up with.