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It’s Monday, and your hair is messy. You haphazardly put on your jeans and shirt as you moan about the day of the week - and I love you.

It’s Tuesday, and you’re stumbling your way around the room, trying to sort out the things you have to do. You stop to briefly kiss the freckles on my nose, asking me about my day - and I love you.

It’s Wednesday, and you’re quietly sprawled on the couch. You pat the spot next to you and pepper kisses on my hair because it’s my least favorite day of the week (and you know it) - and I love you.

It’s Thursday, and you’re wondering what the weekend will bring, but you’re still moaning about how the week is going by too slow for your tastes - and I love you.

It’s Friday, and I’m surrounded by DVDs and snacks you’ve prepared when I was gone. You welcome me with blankets and warmth from your arms - and I love you.

It’s Saturday, and you’re feeling lazy. You won’t let me leave your arms (or is it the other way around?) So you tuck me under your chin as we both wonder how much time we have left before sleep makes us miss each other’s faces - and I love you.

It’s Sunday,
and there’s nothing much to say but
I love you.


-Loving you (NJ.)

One day, he’s going to know. He’ll know your birthday, your middle name, where you were born, your star sign, and your parents names. He’ll know how old you were when you learnt to ride a bike, how your grandparents passed away, how many pets you had, and how much you hated going to school. He’ll know your eye colour, your scars, your freckles, your laugh lines and your birth marks. He’ll know your favourite book, movie, candy, food, pair of shoes, colour, and song. He’s going to know why you’re awake at 5am most nights, where you were when you realised you’d lost a good friend, why you picked up the razor and how you managed to put it down before things went too far. He’s going to know your phobias, your dreams, your fears, your wishes, and your worries. He’s going to know about your first heartbreak, your dream wedding, and your problems with your parents. He’ll know your strengths, weaknesses, laziness, energy, and your mixed emotions. He’s going to know about your love for mayonnaise, your dream of being famous when you were five, your need to quote any film you know all the way through, and your fear of growing older. He’ll know your bad habits, your mannerisms, your stroppy pout, your facial expressions, and your laugh like it’s his favourite song. The way you chew, drink, walk, sleep, fidget and kiss. He’s going to know that you’ve already picked out wedding flowers, baby names, tiles for the bathroom, bridesmaid dresses, and the colour of your bedroom walls. He’s going to know, get annoyed at and then accept that you leave clothes everywhere, take twenty minutes to order a Starbucks, have to organise your DVD’s alphabetically, and check your horoscope… just incase. He’ll know your McDonald’s order, how many sugars to put in your tea, how many scoops of ice cream you want, and that you need your sandwiches cut into triangles. He’s going to know how you feel without you telling him, that you need a wee from a look on your face, and that you’re crying without shedding tears. He’s going to know all of it. Everything. You, from top to bottom and inside out. From learning, from sharing, from listening, from watching. He’s going to know every single thing there is to know, and you know what else? He is still going to love you.

-Unknown (via florida-sounds)

(Source: the-taintedtruth)