I feel proud telling my sister about the time you fixed the heater.

I promise to answer the door at midnight when you come home from work.

I like that you keep one pillow out of line; it means you relaxed here.

I will carry your heavy bag up stairs without making it a thing.

I feel a simple joy when your playlist starts and I know your mood.

I want to be the one who packs your lunch when mornings are rushed.

I notice your penmanship and the way you cross your t's; it feels familiar.

I will stand in the parking lot and wait for you, no matter how late.

I like that you reheat coffee twice and still drink it, stubborn and human.

I will always read the last page of the book for you if you ask.

I feel calmer when you schedule things, because you carry the dates for both of us.

I want to learn to fix that squeaky door hinge you always ignore.

I will bring you soup when you have a cold, even if I hate chopping onions.

I notice the way you tighten your shoelaces and think about small rituals.

I will argue with you about which movie is better and then let you pick.

I feel lucky when you text a photo of your lunch just to show me.

I like that you make grocery lists in pencil and erase two items every time.

I promise I'll remember to charge your phone before trips, even if I forget mine.

I want to sit with you in silence and have it be enough.

I love that your jacket smells faintly of rain even after weeks.

I am annoyed that you always beat me at Scrabble, and I plan my comeback.

I will learn the song you like so I can hum it while you sleep.

I feel grateful when you check my hand in a crowded room.

I keep the spare keys under the fern pot because you'll laugh and use them.

I like you when you're impatient and tapping your foot—it's honest.

I will pick the slower lane in traffic if it means we talk longer.

I notice the tiny scar on your knuckle and it makes me protective.

I want to wake up and make coffee for you even on Saturdays.

I love that you steal fries from my plate and I never stop you.

Your chipped mug on the top shelf makes the kitchen feel like ours.

I am relieved knowing you'll be there for the dentist appointment I dread.

I like watching you read the same page three times and not minding at all.

When you forget your umbrella and get soaked, I feel useless and I want to run out with towels.

I want to be the person who folds your laundry when you can't be bothered.

I miss how you hum when you cook and it keeps me patient through long days.

I love the mismatched socks you keep using; they fit you.

I feel steadier remembering your voice in the mornings.

I saved the receipt from the butcher because you picked the good cut.

I appreciate how you dry the coffee ring from the table without asking.

I want to be the one you tell the dumb details to at midnight.