debdamn

I want Sunday afternoons with you, refusing to get out of bed. Legs entangled, laughing about everything and laughing about nothing. Laughing just because. Because we can so we will.

I want cooking breakfast with you. In the kitchen, so enamoured with one another that we burn our toast. I’m caught between your legs as you sit on the counter and I haven’t got the will to escape. But it’s okay, because we’re together. And we’re laughing again. Despite the amount of toast casualties.

I want your hugs that are so tight yet so freeing. The warmth you radiate that leaves me better in an instant, somehow.
I know that my heart has a home that isn’t only my chest. And you leave me better.