I want to borrow the phrase you used; it stuck with me.

I remember the exact sweater you wore the first time we texted.

I wanted to say thanks for staying on the call when I rambled.

I want to ask about the book on your shelf with the torn spine.

I’d like to hear the stupid story that made you almost miss your bus.

Your message this morning made me check my phone more than usual.

I’m thinking about your terrible coffee order and it makes me laugh.

Your voice on that voice note made me smile in the meeting.

I want to hear about your worst day tomorrow, if you’re up for it.

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.