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.

You brushed crumbs off my shirt after dinner and my brain decided that was seduction; repeat that.

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.