I can’t wait to wake up to your alarm, to roll over and see you next to me, eyes closed, body still half-asleep.
I can’t wait to brush my teeth next to you, sharing the mirror, making faces with our toothpaste-covered tongues.
I can’t wait to brew you coffee, even though I hardly ever drink it, just to fill my apartment with your morning smell, just to feel your lips on my cheek, warm and wet from your first sip.
I can’t wait to put our clean dishes in the drying rack, side by side, after our first dinner.
I can’t wait to see our shoes in the bin by the front door, your laces mixed with mine.
I can’t wait to laugh at your silly jokes, our legs intertwined on the couch and no reason to, or desire for either one of us to leave.
I can’t wait to stay up way too late talking about our pasts, talking about our fears, talking about the random things we did when we were kids, losing track of time like we’re sixteen again, out past curfew watching the stars.
I can’t wait to dance around the kitchen with you, maneuvering around one another, laughing as you reach for the knives and I lean across your body to open the fridge.
I can’t wait to spin around in circles, to feel your hand on the small of my back, guiding my movements as our favorite song plays.
I can’t wait to walk down the street, your hand in mine.
I can’t wait to feel your stubble rub against my cheek, to taste the mint of your freshly rinsed mouth.
I can’t wait to brush your hair back with my fingertips, look into your eyes.
I can’t wait to do all the little things with you, the routines, the habits. I can’t wait to fall into patterns with you, to suddenly feel less like strangers and more like we’ve known one another our whole lives – every tiny, mundane moment becoming something beautiful.
I can’t wait to kiss you – on your cheek, on your shoulder, your neck – gently, playfully, passionately, or when you least expect it.
I can’t wait to hear the shower water turn on, a simple reminder that you’re here, sharing the same space as me.
I can’t wait to steal your blankets, to pull mine back when you curl them around you in the middle of the night.
I can’t wait to listen to the sound of your sleepy breathing, to wonder what you’re dreaming of.
I can’t wait for our first fight, angry words followed by quick remorseful hugs, our chests pressed so tightly to one another we can hardly breathe.
Don’t get me wrong, I can’t wait to become yours, to hear you say you love me, to watch as falling becomes forever. But I can’t wait for the little things. For the moments in-between. For all the teeny-tiny memories, the laughter, the way our love is not made one climatic moment, but thousands of little pieces of us – little things I’ll never forget.
I can’t wait for the tickle fights, the inside jokes, the laughter that bursts from our mouths in the middle of a fancy dinner date.
I can’t wait to come home and see you sleeping on my couch, my favorite pillow under your tired cheek or cooking dinner, a glass of wine already waiting on the kitchen counter for me.
I can’t wait to share my favorite ice cream with you, to go to the grocery store with you, to plan out dates and movie nights and time where we just do nothing but rest in one another’s arms.
Yes I want big, I want beautiful, I want a love that makes my heart feel full. But I want the little things, babe.
I want the moments we so quickly take for granted, that we forget, that we let pass us by without a second glance or thought. I want the memories we don’t always think about when we think about who we are and how we became – but all those little slivers of time that have built our foundation, that have taught us how to truly love.
I want all the mini moments that, when I close my eyes, come rushing back, overwhelming me with their simplicity. The moments that lie beneath the surface of our connection and make our love undeniably real. The little things.
Yes, I want all those beautiful little things with you.
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