I keep replaying you sliding into that booth and imagining you sliding closer.

I promise simply this: tonight mattered to me, and I want more of you.

I pledge to say I’m nervous and ask for a squeeze of your hand.

I promise to tell you when a song reminds me of you and why.

I vow to tell you the truth about my exes without oversharing.

I promise to hold your hand when the city noise makes you tense.

I pledge to keep my phone face down during dinner unless you say otherwise.

I vow to say I’m glad I met you tonight and mean it plainly.

I pledge to be the person who replies, even if my day is busy.

I vow to tell you that tonight made me want to know you better.

I promise to make room on the couch for you and your coat.

I vow to be clear about what I need, instead of hoping you’ll guess.

I promise to hold the door even when you insist you can do it.

I pledge to share my umbrella and my bad playlists without hesitation.

I promise to laugh at your worst pun and then groan with you together.

I vow to be the person who remembers you prefer your eggs fried hard.

I promise to say thank you every time you pass the bread.

I keep replaying your whispered question from the sofa and it makes me restless.

Your laugh stuck in my ear is a slow burn I can't shake off.

I want the low, deliberate way you say my nickname when no one's near.

Your scent on the pillow is a low, persistent wanting I didn't invite.

My day narrows down to the moment I can lean into you again.

The memory of your scarf left on my chair has become my current obsession.

I keep imagining your laugh right behind me and it tightens everything.

My mind keeps going back to the scratch on your knuckle from last week.

That chipped mug you use is the image I scroll to between meetings.

Your message at noon made my skin remember places only you know.

Your scent on the coat I borrowed has been tormenting me between calls.

I want to trace the line where your shirt ends and your skin begins.

Your shoelace coming undone this morning is the thing I can’t stop picturing.

I want the quiet of you undressing a problem from me with a look.

That little freckle by your collarbone has my attention more than it should.

Your laugh in the hallway at lunch rerouted my afternoon plans to you.

The thought of you humming while you wash the dishes is making me impatient.

Your text at noon about the meeting made my hands go somewhere very different.

I keep imagining you whispering exactly what you wanted to say but didn't.

I want the small, stubborn way you insist on paying for the dessert.

I can't stop thinking how your jacket smells after you leave it here.

I want your elbow on my knee under the table like last time.

I keep wanting the breathless pause when you catch me looking at you.