“Love,” he said, “is carrying her around the castle on my back. It is the way she bites her lip when thinking. It’s her tangle of blonde hair blowing lazily in the breeze as she skips stones on the lake. It is in the way she steals my leather jacket and gives it back each time she claims that it no longer smells like me. It is how her hand is always covered in ink and papercuts. It is the instinct I have to protect her at all costs.”
Book:Serendipity