This isn't supposed to be sickeningly sweet.

I love early morning adventures and trips. Ella knows all about this, and so should last year's Unionaires -- I was always bright eyed and bushy tailed when I boarded the bus the morning of a tour. Somehow, even when I was a kid, it's always been much easier to get up at 4 a.m. to leave on a road trip than leave the night before and drive all night. 

This morning I've been up since 4:45 a.m. Dylan's best friend was leaving for college in Wyoming this morning at 6, so we got up early and drove half an hour to his house to say goodbye.

"What are we going to do from 6:30 to 8, when I have to go to work?" I asked Dylan last night. He suggested going out for coffee and just chilling at Starbucks, instead of going all the way back home.

Dylan isn't a coffee drinker, but he knows I am, and he indulges me quite often (reason 83, 376 why I love him). We got to Starbucks at 6:30, and spent the next hour and a half, me sipping my salted caramel mocha, him nibbling on a traditional glazed donut, talking about everything from dreams, to best friends, to parents, to politics, to rude people, to beautiful people, to the internet. We watched as people bustled in and out the door, the line stretching from the counter, along the wall, and around the corner. We peered at the doctor in his lab coat, talking medical nonsense (at least that's what it is to me) on his phone for ever; the daddy listening to his teenage daughter spilling details about school and boys and drama with other girls; the tall blonde who couldn't walk in those stilettos to save her life; the homeless-looking man in sneakers sprawled across a chair, not even bothering to get coffee or a pastry. We both enjoy people-watching, but we also discovered that, as a couple, we are the most judgmental people we know.

Together, we click. We are, simultaneously, complete opposites and almost twins. One will fill in where the other lacks, and one's habits complement the other's. I really fit with this guy, and I enjoy being with him all the time.

I'm not trying to gross anyone out, talking about how much I love my boyfriend. That's cliche, overused, and obnoxious, even to me. My  morning wasn't spent gazing into his eyes, telling him how much I adore him and kissing all over him. I snuggled up close to him on the couch, but always touching him somehow has become normal -- it's not a part of the electric honeymoon stage (which, I might add, we have nearly passed). What I enjoyed most about this morning was spending time with my best friend. I just like being with him, doing anything, going anywhere; I treasure talking with him about everything, but I also value quiet moments like reading together at Barnes and Noble just as much. We don't have to constantly be telling each other how in love we are or how beautiful the other is to have a good time. We are equally as happy talking about the weather, or saying nothing at all. I know I love him because I'm comfortable sitting next to him in complete silence.

I do have "bad confidence days" (as he coined it) in which I seek more encouragement than usual, and I want him to remind me how special I am to him. He always satisfies that craving, even when I don't ask for it. But he isn't just my boyfriend. He doesn't just stroke my ego and make me feel beautiful, although he does these things adequately. He provides for me (even spoils me); he is my confidante, my brains when I don't have any, my scientific calculator, my personal trainer, my body guard.

And my best friend.