You want to know what sexy is?
It’s the man who picks up the telephone. Who gives up his seat on on the subway. Who meets you at your door and pays for dinner, who is kind and good and whole. Who has suffered sadness, but no longer wears it. The guy who occasionally pulls out the suit tie. The one who is nervous to look at you, but looks nonetheless. It’s the guy who isn’t afraid of his own hope, who is more interested in being compassionate than cool. It’s all the things your eighteen-year-old-self didn’t know to look for. It’s the moment he musses with his hair and you know that he thinks about you, too. It’s his excitement and his awe. It’s the coffee and the newspaper and the weathered briefcase he carries in his right hand. It’s his lack of cool and the ease with which he accepts it. It’s his crooked smile and the flush of his cheeks. It’s the guy who says the things that aren’t so easy to say. Who cups the back of your neck and kisses you hard and shows up, even when showing up isn't terribly convenient. It's the guy who has done the work. Who goes to bed okay with who he is.