Disclaimer: I promise you, as a struggling-for-money-to-buy-PopTarts freshman in college, I do NOT own The Office. However, I do own the Brooklyn Bridge, the Sun, and the rights to all the Beatles music.
It was his eyes.
It was the way they could express exactly what he was thinking with a single wink or squint.
It was the way they sparkled when he did something mischievous or when he was passionate about whatever it was he was doing.
It was the way she had to brush strands of hair away to see them in the morning or during a walk in the rain (They never brought an umbrella).
Yes, she was sure it was his eyes.
It was her ears.
It was the fact that they were tiny and pink and the fact that they turned bright red in the Pennsylvania winter.
It was the fact that she only wore the most demure studs that almost seemed make her eyes sparkle even more (if that was at all possible).
It was the fact that that was the spot where he loved to nibble her, if only to hear the cute little squealing noise she made when he did it.
Yes, he was positive it was her ears.
It was his hair.
It was how it was shaggy and messy, and how it fell absolutely ungracefully into his eyes.
It was how it had the slightest tinge of red or blonde or some other color she wasn't sure existed in nature.
It was how it smelled like rain in springtime and the way she admittedly had no idea what that meant. But she knew it was true.
Yes, she was certain it was his hair.
It was her lips.
It was the way they stretched to her ears when she was really excited or happy, and the way they pursed together if she was frustrated.
It was the way the air that puffed through them was warm and comforting each time she said "I love you."
It was the way they were soft and tasted of the cherry lip balm she put on every morning. She swore it was to keep them from getting chapped. She knew he didn't believe her.
Yes, he knew it was her lips.
It was his hands.
It was how surprised she was the first time she held them- they were soft and large, and she enjoyed the feeling of his hands dwarfing hers.
It was how she felt them on her hips each night as she fell to sleep in his arms, and how she couldn't sleep unless she felt that weight.
It was how they roamed her body as they kissed, even the first night they were together- it was just how natural they felt coursing across her skin.
Yes, she was sure it was his hands.
It was her laugh.
It was the way it started off a demure little giggle and escalated into a full-blown chuckle.
It was the way it became breathless and desperate as he grasped at her sides and tickled that sensitive spot just below her ribcage.
It was the way she sometimes let out the tiniest little snort, and the way she hit him when he told her how cute it was. (Of course, this all only made her laugh harder.)
Yes, it was definitely her laugh.
It was the way they were perfect for each other.
It was the way her giggle complemented his belly laugh, the way his silliness often got the better of her more serious side.
It was the way they understood one another, the way they could communicate with a look or a gesture, and the way that they could keep each other entertained for hours with desperate kisses or unnecessary practical jokes.
It was the way he looked at her as she climbed into bed each night, the way he couldn't believe she was finally his and the way she couldn't believe he was finally hers, and the way they expressed the disbelief in earnest with one another, setting off another fury of kisses.
It was the way they ended each night with whispered "I love you"s and the way her head fit perfectly under his chin as their legs interlocked under the overstuffed comforter.
Yes, it was definitely perfection.