Hating: my stupid Statistics class; and this final assignment.
Loving: rice krispies; new friends.
Lip-syncing: Safe and Sound -- Taylor Swift and the Civil Wars
When you’re telling me what your boss had done earlier at work to prove, yet again, that he’s the biggest asshole at the agency while your fingers comb through my hair. Or when you update me on your uncle’s condition and how he’ll be released from the hospital next week while your fingers trickle down my spine and whirlpool at the small of my back. Or when we discuss Indiana Jones and your thumb swirls around the pop of my hip bone.
When you listen to me gossip about how George tried asking out the new girl in the office and she turned him down while your hand smooths over my body, like the waves; ebbing high and flowing so low. Or when I read aloud with your thumb suspended above my lips, occasionally sweeping over ever so slightly, caressing me like a mist, like a fog.
These moments. I live for these moments.
When our words fall without filters and your fingers spill all over me. When one is not possible without the other. When words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup.
Sometimes when we’re laying in bed, we must sound just like that to the rest of the universe. I want to lay with you. Right here, like this, for the rest of the night. And all through the rest of my nights.