I think about the way you talk to me. The little things you tell me. About yourself and about me and about the way the world works. And how I just want to keep talking to you.
I think about the things that would never work between us. And the hundred other things that make us work. And how maybe we could figure it all out. How all the things could be nothing and everything at the same time.
I think about the way your eyes dart down to my lips before you kiss me. And the way your hand feels when it’s on my waist when we’re lying next to each other. How your warmth radiates throughout my entire body.
I think about the way you look at me when I’m ranting about children and school and love. And how you genuinely seem interested in what I’m saying. And how that grin forms because you know I sound like an idiot. How I don’t care how stupid I sound because at least you’re listening.
And I think about you. I think about you.