tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7873020121965116112011-08-01T10:46:30.993-07:00countingjenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11100486127984601372noreply@blogger.comBlogger11100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-787302012196511611.post-77966327864391165912010-11-03T09:40:00.000-07:002010-11-03T09:40:38.640-07:00My favorite part about you (besides the freckle on the right side of your bottom lip) is the way you make me feel. That sounds, cheesy, but really it's a purely selfish sentiment. I'm so used to numbness and complacency--it's wonderful to have that small thrill every time I look at you or think about you. Even when we fight (it happens), just being able to be full-on out-of-control angry without analyzing or trying to ignore it is a rush. It's a rush just to be able to feel at all. I love you for that.<br /><br />No holds barred, no compromises. Just pure energy that propels me forward and wakes me up in the morning, even when you aren't the first thing I see when opening my eyes. It inspires me.<br /><br />Thank you.<br /><br />-<br /><br />I secretly love mornings.<br /><br />I love fumbling around for my underwear in the dark and smoking that first cigarette and taking that first sip of coffee and shivering the dreams out of my head.<br /><br />I love the sun's palette of<br />&nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;reds and<br />&nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; oranges and<br />&nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;the deepest<br />&nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; blue of the day.<br />(It's even better when you're there with me:<br />&nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; the warmth<br />&nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; and kisses<br />&nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; even the sore muscles I get from sleeping on that too-small bed<br />&nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; and that smile that hints at our adventures in dreamland, even if we don't<br />&nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; remember them.)<br /><br />Remember the day we spent under the trees? It felt like morning. Calm. Quiet. Filled with such a quiet potential through the birds and the way your fingers found mine (which we didn't dare acknowledge). I never wanted that day to end. Luckily it hasn't. I relive it every morning with that first cigarette and the colors of sunrise and the way your fingers find mine before I've even opened my eyes.<br /><br />I love mornings.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/787302012196511611-7796632786439116591?l=underthetrees.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>countingjenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11100486127984601372noreply@blogger.com0