A perfectly taut, muscular back. An alluringly voluptuous frame. A winters night spent curled up in his arms. A gorgeous summers day spent strolling with her, hand in hand. I love the fact that he can read me like a book. I adore the way she can make me laugh with abandon. His passion and vigour for life is exciting. Her boundless heart and uncompromising courage is inspiring. But why must I choose between them? Why must my love be chained by labels and definitions? I’m neither this nor that. My love falls on a spectrum and each colour is beautiful.