You cannot sing, but you occasionally forget this small fact and croon softly to whatever song is playing. I love that you do this in moments of forgetfulness, because it means that you are at ease in front of me... even if it does sound absolutely painful.
You have an uncanny ability to make sweet, strong coffee every. single. time. I could drink your coffee for the rest of my life.
Your laugh lines. The most perfect part of your face (that is, they might have to wrestle with your smile, your delicious freckles, your blue eyes, your long lashes, et cetera et cetera, to be continued). But I told you once that if I get to your age and have laugh lines like yours, I will have lived a most successful life. No matter how much you’ve struggled in your years, I also know that you’ve laughed often.
You dress like a champion. You are the handsomest thing in a sweater vest since Clark Gable.
Your profile in the morning is perfect. You have a lovely sculpted chin, a strong nose, a small, soft smile. The corners of your mouth turn up. Mostly, in the morning, it’s the expression of absolute calm on your face, a sort of contentedness that I don't see as much when you're awake.
You have an absolutely charming laugh. It’s the most wonderful chuckle, and it always elicits a grin from me and anyone else who's lucky enough to hear it.
Your arms, so deceptively strong, are the most comforting things in the world. When you hold me, everything that I am afraid of and everything that hurts me feels slightly less acid, less biting. Your arms are strong and they are warm and they encircle me and then, I’m protected. I’m yours.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment