F to S

Wake up one morning, in the same bed, the same house, the same you. Yet everything is different.

You don't complain about the rain anymore. The weather's not too hot anymore. School isn't taxing anymore. And the hours aren't too short anymore. Love. In the prospect of being.

What happens when you feel like you've known someone for a really long time, not so intimately, but intimate by default. And one morning they're changing the way you look at life, or determining how many fits of anger, how many bouts of tears, how many shocks of happiness you're entitled to in a day. Or two. Or more.

All I want to do  is hold your hand, when no one's watching, snuggle up to you after a much too intoxicated night, watch every little movement of yours, while you stay focused on The Big Bang Theory, your familiar laughter. Arms around you all through the night, watch you whisper to me good morning with that smile, at the break of dawn. Nudge, just for a cup of coffee, sleepy eyes, and you. Steal, looks and smiles, and private illegal actions, at crazy hours.

Exchange lives, exchange breaths, exchange souls and remain intact.