This is not a love letter 2.0

Here is how I think of you.

I think of you looking like a dog, with your head suddenly cocked up, alert and listening for the sounds outside that drove you into panic in a matter of seconds.

I think of you with only some of one eye and tan skin that suddenly looks light, visible, squished into the crook of my arm, looking at me.

I think of you sitting across me from the table at a restaurant and holding my hand as 20’s music plays and we wait for our food to arrive.

I think of you long-limbed, and brown and ridiculously comfortable and unselfconscious, flinging your clothes across the room for the first time.

I think of you with your face half hidden behind my hair, breathing into my ear and making my skin tingle while our friends drink beer and get stoned in yellow light.

I think of you with your face buried in my neck, breathing in; I have wet eyelashes.

I think of you pulling retarded faces on skype all the way across the world, as far as you can possibly get.

I think of you and I am not angry anymore.

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