“He’s not perfect. You aren’t either, and the two of you will never be perfect. But if he can make you laugh at least once, causes you to think twice, and if he admits to being human and making mistakes, hold onto him and give him the most you can. He isn’t going to quote poetry, he’s not thinking about you every moment, but he will give you a part of him that he knows you could break. Don’t hurt him, don’t change him, and don’t expect for more than he can give. Don’t analyze. Smile when he makes you happy, yell when he makes you mad, and miss him when he’s not there. Love hard when there is love to be had. Because perfect guys don’t exist, but there’s always one guy that is perfect for you.” – Bob Marley
I have to imagine that the perfect morning would be a Sunday morning and that it would include sex, cigarettes, coffee, and waffles (in that order).
Loving you is loving a black hole. Because it keeps taking and I don’t know where it goes, the love I give.
I think I see it in your eyes when you wake up next to me, or you praise my art, or you parade me in front of your friends like the best, most expensive diamond-encrusted watch you have ever owned.
And then you’re gone. And when you’re gone, it’s gone with you, and I doubt until I am with you again.
I will never know for certain where it goes or if it is coming back, yet I can’t help but stand in front of the hole and let it drain everything I have and take it somewhere I will never know, somewhere I think I am okay not knowing.
I think I am okay not knowing until you’re gone and I’m alone with the smell of you in my bed and the image of your eyes - as they open and kiss my forehead “Good morning” - in my heart.