Leave me breathless.

Warning: this is going to be an "oh no, she's really gone over the deep end" post.

Deal.

This past weekend, I went and visited my bff (we'll call her K) in the new (and exciting) city to which she just moved. My other bff (we'll call her M) came, too, and for four days we did what every girl loves to do--but which, sometimes, boys provide an obstacle to doing. We watched MTv in our pajamas (note to Heidi: dump Spencer/Skeletor), we watched girly movies, we had six hours of spa treatments, we went shopping, we listened to awesome music, we talked, we read...

But I digress. The point of this story is that I was away for four days. This is three days longer than any separation RCB and I have had since Round Three began in January. While I had a great time with my bffs and would have stayed days longer if I didn't have this pesky job thing, I did find myself missing RCB. A lot. And he me, as evidenced by the phone calls and texts while I was away.

I didn't realize how much, though, until I landed back in my own stomping grounds. I called him to let him know I had arrived and that I'd call once I got to the gate so he'd know where to get me. He was already at the baggage claim. As I anxiously and unpatiently waited to deboard, I began becoming more and more excited.

As I approached the baggage claim area and saw him, my stomach and heart both dropped. In a good way. I realized then what the phrase "take my breath away" means. There have been occasions in the past when he would lean over to kiss me and I'd find myself out of breath. Odd, I'd think. I'm not tremendously out of shape, and the kissing has just started. Why am I feeling like this?

It's because, at the risk of sounding cheesy, he takes me breath away. Literally. Figuratively. And all that falls in between.