I’m happy when you show up with two coffees for no reason.

I want to be the person you tell the small, weird facts to.

I enjoy the quiet of texting at 2 a.m. with you.

I keep a dent in the armrest where you rested your elbow.

I liked how you held the door for the kid who dropped their books.

You suggested the wrong movie and we stayed anyway; that was fun.

I keep turning to show you a meme I forgot you already saw.

I miss your laugh over my terrible popcorn at the cinema last week.

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 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 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 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.

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

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 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.

I noticed your shoelaces were untied and I tied them for you.

I keep replaying your “okay” in my head and it comforts me.

I miss the small argument we had about which film to watch.

I smiled at your old sweater draped over the chair and thought of you.

I want to plan a Tuesday evening with you, nothing special, just us.

I like that you remember to water the basil on the windowsill.

I kept the napkin you scribbled on so I could see your handwriting.

I like hearing your keys on the door, even after a long day.

I want to keep the playlist you made me for rainy afternoons.

I like that you always steal the last slice and pretend you didn’t.