She always asks me to cuddle her
In her sleep, she is fighting
To touch me, her hand is open.
Her heart is open, too.

She isn’t a very good cook.
She keeps trying.
What does it matter?
My belly is already full of butterflies.

Her eyes always give her away
I know their shades,
All of her colors.

She leaves me notes
I write poems.

Six years ago
We made a list of 100 reasons
We should be together
We were 2 short.
I’ve been waiting for the perfect two.

We are the perfect two.


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