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I want to be out with my girlfriend, on the perfect date, walking out of a little restraunt downtown and talking about how good the food was, even though the thought of it alone makes us both nearly sick from eating so much.

But if the weatherman had lied when he told us that the forecast for the day was going to be sunny, it’d make that perfect date ten times better.

We’d both take off running towards the car, getting soaked while the rain pelts us with every step, and I’d mindlessly remind her about the episode of mythbuster’s where they prove that running in the rain only makes your body collect more of the drops. But honestly, we wouldn’t care. We’d run anyways. We’d laugh, hand in hand, feeling hers tighten around mine as one of us starts to pull away from the other when we finally reach the car. A quick kiss seals the relay, and we both duck inside, the doors shutting behind us as the rain beats against the roof my car, my eyes catching her oh so beautiful brown ones as she whimpers:

“hurry up baby, turn the heat on, I’m cold.”

and I’m hurrying, believe me I am, but what’s slowing me down is not wanting this small moment to end. this is perfect. the rain, our bodies gasping for breath as we lay against the seats of my car, and in that moment I’d know, I’m in love - even though before this I’d have already sworn that over and over again.

The weatherman said it was going to be sunny and warm, clear skies and a light breeze, but-

I mean, I’m already here, but this isn’t home until she’s finally here too.

The thought of walking in after a long night of work, and crawling into bed with my girl. I’d press my lips to her forehead gently, pushing her hair back away from face and whisper good morning, knowing she’s going to let me cuddle her for at MOST 5 minutes before complaining that it’s too warm and I need to scoot.

It’s waking up next to her every morning, and reaching to feel her soft skin, momentarily checking to make sure she’s all comfortable, and that I didn’t steal too much of the covers before turning and playing on my phone until she wakes up, because you could catch me dead moving and missing out on being next to her while she’s at peace.

It’s the smell of fresh baked cookies, and her random little meals, or the way she’d ask me at 3 in the morning for a grilled cheese, because she knows I could never tell her no.

Or the way I’m about to climb into bed and before I can even pull the covers back, she’s given me 30 million tasks to complete before I can even think about laying down. Fresh ice water, triple check the locks, rub her feet, and make sure the lights off, in that order - and I will do each one every time, thoroughly, with no complaint, because if she feels safe enough to ask, and comfortable enough to depend on me, I’d never let her down or give her an attitude, no matter how sleepy I am.

It’s the “call me when you get off, we can sleep on the phone today” texts I get when I’m at work, those that will eventually turn into “I can’t wait for you to come home, I miss you.”

So yeah, maybe I’m home, in my bed. But it sure doesn’t feel like a home until it’s been blessed with you.

Long distance gives you a sneak peek at normalcy, and god does it hurt when you gotta go back to being individuals, several hundred miles apart.

But for you, I will.

I’ll play stupid for as long as she’ll let me get by with, looking at her with a smirk.

“Oh you want me to stop?”

“Oh you can’t handle it?”

“I don’t think you really want it anymore.”

When I know damn well the minute my fingers dip between her legs that’s she’s going to be soaked and ready for me to fuck her senselessly.

It’s the more’s, and please’s that get me everytime.