I keep replaying the sleepy way you kissed my temple before sleep and it’s making me impatient for nightfall.

I want the tiny, private jokes we whisper that make everyone else seem loud — tell me one only we get.

I keep remembering how you tucked the blanket around my knees on the sofa and how safe that felt; tuck me in properly.

I want the brief, smug look you give when you win at cards and then use it on me; play to win tonight.

I keep picturing your phone screen lighting up with my name and how fast your smile gets — call me like that.

I want the low chuckle you make when I say something stupid on purpose; make me dumb again.

I keep thinking about the way you pressed your forehead to mine after we argued and the apology that followed; I want that peace.

I want the steady pressure of your palm on my lower back when you guide me through a crowd — guide me home.

I remember the taste of the first sip we shared from the same glass; I want to share one again.

I want the hush in your voice when you lean close to tell me something private — tell me something private now.

I keep replaying you slipping your hand into mine in the dark and how perfectly it fit; give me that fit tonight.

I want the way you clear your throat when you’re about to suggest something reckless — say something reckless.

I keep thinking of your foot nudging mine under blankets and how obvious you were; be obvious again.

That stray freckle on your collarbone I traced the night we stayed in is distracting me; I want to trace it again.

I want your sleepy murmurs in the morning, the ones that drag me back under the covers.

I want the short, sharp warning you give before you do something mischievous — it makes me ready for you.

I keep thinking about your calloused thumbs on the steering wheel that night — and how they steadied me.

I want the small snort you make when you laugh at something only you find filthy; say it again.

I keep replaying how you tasted of espresso and rain that morning; I want that mix again.

Remember the nap we took together on the couch? I keep wanting to wake up with you in the same tangled mess.

I want your quiet command to come from across the room again — the one that makes me drop everything.

I’m thinking of the warmth of your shoulder where I rested during the film and I want that warmth back.

I want the slow, not-rushed way you take my hand when we cross the street; hold it tighter tonight.

Your perfume on the pillow from that night is still faint; it’s making me impatient for you.

I want the roughness of your voice when you told me to be careful — and the way you looked after saying it.

The way your laugh hitched when I kissed your cheek by the car makes me want to kiss that spot properly.

I keep thinking about the way you hummed under your breath at the film — makes me want you in a way words don’t.

I remember how you tucked your hair behind your ear in the doorway; I want to feel your fingers do that to me.

That half-whisper you said when we got home keeps looping; I want you to say it again, slower.

I keep imagining your hand finding the small of my back when we walk — and I want it to do that right now.

Your jacket still smells faintly like you in my closet; it’s distracting me in the best way.

I want the quiet you made when you read aloud to me, the small pause before your smile.

Thinking about your breath on my neck when we hugged after the concert — I want that close tonight.

Remember the chipped mug you claimed was mine? I want to hold it while I hold you later.

I keep replaying the joke you told at the table and how you leaned in afterward; I want that leaning again.

Every time I pass the bakery where we shared that pastry I picture your fingers brushing mine and it makes me want you.

I’m still smiling about the silk scarf you wore that night — I can’t stop imagining it loose around my wrist.

I love that you still ask for my opinion on silly purchases; your respect for my taste is everything here.

I smiled when I found your pen on my desk; the trail of you through the apartment is comforting.

I feel lucky that you answer my late-night worries with patience and a plan rather than dismissal.