You’re allowed to be small and messy and human right now; I still want you around.

I’ll bring the takeout you always choose when you want comfort food.

You can sleep an extra hour tomorrow; I’ll cover your morning call.

I kept your last text pinned so I can read it when I’m missing you.

You said the joke that fell flat; I laughed anyway because it was you.

You were brave this morning even if it didn’t look like it; I saw you try.

I miss our stupid routines and I’ll start one again if you want.

You still have that sweater with the hole; I’ll mend it this weekend.

I know you’re overwhelmed; tell me one tiny task I can take off your list.

You’re allowed to change your mind about this whole thing; no pressure from me.

I’m bringing the blankets and the worst film we both hate; we’ll laugh at the subtitles.

You look exhausted in that selfie and I wish I could press pause for you.

I liked your idea in the meeting even if others didn’t; mention it again tomorrow.

You forgot to eat; come over and I’ll force you to have dinner with me.

Your phone battery died and you missed a call—call me back when you can, I’m here.

I can sit through your rant about the day and I won’t check my phone.

You made a clumsy comment in the group and I’m still on your side.

That exam didn’t go well, and that doesn’t decide anything about you.

You misread that text and reacted—normal human move, don’t be harsh on yourself.

If you want to cry, I’ll hand you tissues and not make it awkward.

I remember you said you liked mint tea; I’ll bring some over in twenty.

You can take the rest of tonight off from pretending everything’s okay.

You missed your train and that sucked; I’ll pick you up next time or meet you at the station.

I’m sending a bad joke right now and I expect a groan reply.

I kept the receipt from the pastries you bought last week because you joked about them; we’ll get more.

You’re allowed to be frustrated; tell me one thing that went wrong and I’ll listen.

I wish I could make the afternoon shorter for you, but I can bring dinner at six.

You spilled coffee on your notebook; I’ll buy you a new one and I’ll help copy the notes.

Your hoodie is on my chair; wear it tonight if you want something familiar.

You can sit with me and not say anything until you want to.

I’m proud of you for emailing them even though you felt sick about it.

That playlist you made is on repeat here; it’s keeping me company and I hope it helps you.

You handled that meeting badly and that’s fine, you’ll do the next one better.

You left your blue mug in my sink; I’ll wash it and bring it to you in ten.

I picture us still sending each other one-line check-ins that mean everything.

I want simple future mornings where you steal my cereal and I pretend to mind.

I'll keep offering to help paint rooms even when our arms are sore.

I want to know we'll still meet weekly for bad takeout and better company.

I want to be the person who remembers your birthday before Facebook does.

I want a future where your plant collection takes over my kitchen counters.