I’ll sit through your least favorite film if you pick the next one.

I hide the good chocolate where only you know to look.

I traded my sandwich for yours because I liked how you rolled your eyes.

I’ll take the late shift so you can sleep in tomorrow.

I want to be the person you brag about to your sister.

I saved the last piece of cake for you, wrapped on the counter.

I’ll remind you to eat when you forget because work runs too long.

I replaced the batteries in the remote so you don’t have to stand up.

I cheer when you get nervous because it’s proof you care.

I’ll fetch the umbrella from the hallway before you get soaked.

I love you — I mean I choose you, plainly and loudly.

I rewound the audiobook to the chapter you missed on the commute.

I will carry the heavy box up the stairs for you without asking.

I’ll text when I land so you don’t pace the floor.

I want to be the person you call when something good finally happens.

I left a note on the fridge so you don’t forget your passport.

I read your bad jokes out loud to my dog and laugh anyway.

I’ll hold the bag while you tie your shoe, every time.

I enjoy that you eat the crusts and leave the middle for me.

I made a list of the small repairs you mentioned and booked the handyman.

I want to learn the songs you hum in the kitchen.

You steady me when I plan too many things and then panic.

I’ll drive across town at midnight if you call and sound tired.

I notice when you change your ringtone and I like the one you picked.

I stayed up to finish that episode so you wouldn’t watch alone.

You make me choose honesty over showmanship, and I prefer that.

I remembered to refill the sugar because you mentioned it ran out last week.

I want to argue with you and make up, every single time.

When you send one-word updates I read every letter twice.

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

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

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

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

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.