The way you scuff your feet. The way you pick the roses past their bloom, so you can jingle shake their petals as you walk, without a bride. The way you haven’t brushed your hair since you were ten. The way you’re comfortable with taking turns in dialogue. Your pauses of breath. Your silver step. The way you croak good morning in the lazy afternoons. The way you only like your yolks runny. Your meat soft. Your bread hard. The way you fill the cup with too much hot water. The way you let things steam until we’re blind, with something not unlike tears. Your apologetic ‘no’s. The freedom in your ‘hello’s. Those jeans you never wore. The picture in my head of your fingers, your thumbs, the backs of your knees. The smile you wore as a badge whenever I was leaving. The way your face becomes the same blur as I swing you into dizziness. Your look of disdain when you’ve realized I’ve written the day away.
Love is a lot like hate.
Love the photo. Suits, too.
I like this. alots
Gorgeous, in a way hard to explain. It is so human that it almost sings. Makes me think about my own relationships.
Thank you gorgeousness. Creating pleasant ideals, or unideals, is somewhat gratifying.
I really enjoyed this!
I enjoyed this Ms Sats!