a thing about you.

I looked at your face while you were sleeping and this habit of mine I could not seem to let go. You looked so peaceful and pretty. What is it about you that got me feel like I was coming home?

If we’re a couple of peasants in the southern of France, I’d pick out berries with you and bake pies, bear your babies.

You opened half of your left eye and smiled. But you didn’t want to embarass me so you pretended to go back to sleep.

You’re just so sweet.

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