I am not a bus stop; I am not a space for you to fill until better comes along. I am your 2 AM conversations under starry skies. I am the sheets that will still be wrapped around you in the morning. I am sex in the shower and your candlelit dinner. I am your emergency contact, the hairs you find in the car. I am your Sunday drive and your Wednesday lunch. I am mismatched socks and late night tears. I am the ring around your finger, the ring for your keys. I may not be your first kiss, but I intend to be your last. Do not kiss me if your intentions are not the same.

— notes to future lovers, k.w.  (via paradiche)

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