Make Me Smile

I want to spend an entire Sunday laying in my bed, watching a film with you, and maybe shower together. She’d make me some food and I’d wash her hair. I would tell her that I want to watch documentaries together and discuss them. I want to look at her face when she has that, “omg no way,” or that feeling of, “No animal, don’t die!” I want to tell her that’s nature, and she’d say it was unfair and be sad. She would be stubborn and argue. Her head would lay gently and softly on my shoulder. She would wander with her fingertips around my collarbones, or on my stomach. She then would look up, and her face would change into cute wrinkles on her forehead … skin, bones, and scars all perfectly constructed together. The whole time I would play with her hair. We would go shopping together, and choose our outfits for each other. We would choose the same dressing room, and laugh about how ridiculous we look, or maybe try to convince the other they look good. We would eat a meal together, and I would take her backpack, and sit on a bench in the city. We would eat and talk about the people that walk past us, and she’d be like, “12 o’clock, that old woman with that dog.” On Fridays we’d go outside and have fun watching the stars and talk about life and everything personal. We would go home wanting to have sex all night, but we have sex one time and then get ready for bed. We would cuddle, but we wouldn’t be able to keep our hands off each other. We would listen to chill music, go onto my rooftop, drink tea, and cook together.