She is intense. That’s what I love about her.

The way she moves is intense. The way she speaks is intense. The way she loves is intense.

She loves with a purpose. Love is important to her. She doesn’t say she loves this pizza, she loves dolphins, she loves the Beatles. Love isn’t something idle or something to be shared freely. Love is something she reserves and she only gives it when she knows you’re worth it.

The way she sees the world is intense. She watches people like a hawk. She is a machine, about to anticipate their next action. She sees every possibility, every outcome before making her move. She is like an AI trapped in a woman’s body. Sometimes at night, I reach over to make sure she’s actually there, she’s actually real.

She prioritizes fact over feeling. Probability over humanity. Acting over caring.

She tells me she was born this way. She was coded this way. She couldn’t change the way she was, so she chose to use her abilities to do good. To save those in need of saving. To stop those who need to be stopped. On the streets they call her a vigilante, a saint, a killer. I call her Lover.

I am someone she saved, from a dark place in my head many, many years ago. I don’t understand her. I never will. I know I love her, and I know she loves me. I know that because she loves me, her facts and her probabilities will always be for my survival. Because the statistics told her that I matter more to her than she matters to herself. I know that she would always choose me, no matter what, in a thousand different lifetimes.

And I now know that she would choose to save me over saving the world.