Does This Exist For Me?

She wears garters on a regular basis.
She reads novels, that weren't necessarily written in the last 60 years.
She paints me.
She can go through entire evenings without discussing herself.
She doesn't have to be mad, to be silent.
She has a style that others envy.
She watches a movie.
She truly watches a movie.
She listens to Slayer, yet you could never tell by looking at her. Or maybe you could.
She fucks me like a hate crime.
She lets me fuck her like it's genocide.
She doesn't say sentences that sound, such as, "Yeah, Robert isn't like the other losers I dated."
She bothers to learn the names of my relatives.
She understands why I don't want to see my relatives.
She understands why I want to see my relatives.
She teaches me something new, almost, everyday.
She can run.
She can jump.
She blushes, when I whisper dirty things into her ear, in public.
She moves closer when I do.
She does them, also.
She has common sense.
She has intuition.
She never let's me go away unresolved.
She will fight the war, but understands the battles are normally ridiculous.
She understands when I want a night, or two, or three, alone.
She surprises me.
She doesn't feel a need to schedule.
She doesn't go to the same place everyday.
She is not in constant mourning for something that is beyond her control.
She knows how to let go.
She can tell when she is going to ruin something, and doesn't.
She can tell when I'm going to ruin something, and doesn't let me.
She has a past.
She has a future.
She, most importantly, has a present.
She does not set standards for me, that are not standards for herself.
She knows life is not absolutes.
She can discuss anything.
She is not in love with the idea of me.
She is in love with what is truly me.