Dear you,
It's strange, the things that make me think of you....
like icing on a cupcake that I don't even eat.
One day, when I meet you, will we bake together? The two of us cramped into a small apartment, flour caked on both of our hands as we move around each other the way only two people in love can maneuver in a small room? Will you put your arms around me as I turn to kiss you, my hands still playing in the bowl of dough? I imagine that for a moment, it'll all feel perfect - your lips on mine, my hands squished into raw eggs and brown sugar, yours on my hips. The sun shining in through the window above our sink will land on our faces, slanting in a way that a photographer would love.
And as you pull away, I'll find two hand prints on my hips - proof that the moment wasn't a dream after all.
<3
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It's strange, the things that make me think of you....
like icing on a cupcake that I don't even eat.
One day, when I meet you, will we bake together? The two of us cramped into a small apartment, flour caked on both of our hands as we move around each other the way only two people in love can maneuver in a small room? Will you put your arms around me as I turn to kiss you, my hands still playing in the bowl of dough? I imagine that for a moment, it'll all feel perfect - your lips on mine, my hands squished into raw eggs and brown sugar, yours on my hips. The sun shining in through the window above our sink will land on our faces, slanting in a way that a photographer would love.
And as you pull away, I'll find two hand prints on my hips - proof that the moment wasn't a dream after all.
<3
Facebook ~ Twitter ~ Pinterest ~ Bloglovin'
