You know, I really want to write something here today. But I'm afraid there's only one thing on my mind. And, get ready, because it's pretty pathetic:
I love my boyfriend.
Some days, I just wake up completely, wholeheartedly and unabashedly in love. I'm in love with the way he breathes, the way he smells, the softness of his lips in our first kiss of the day. His eyes, his smile, his hands. The way he cares about me, how appreciative and thoughtful he is. Everything.
This morning was like that. Immediately upon opening my eyes, I was utterly enamored of him, thinking about our weekend of doing nothing. We watched movies, we went to Lowe's, we cooked out on the grill. We played poker, we lounged around, we had a few drinks. We stayed up almost all night on Saturday, the room lit only by the glowing TV, just talking and joking. It was so nice. So, today, I'm in love with the way he reached for my hand when we were walking through home improvement stores yesterday, the way we laughed all weekend. I'm in love with the way he ran out of our room this morning, in a hurry, in his slacks and button down shirt, his tie hanging untied down both sides of his chest, the way he kissed me and said "I love you" as he left, the way he told me to have a good day. All of it. Each and every boring, sappy, mundane detail.
But nobody wants to hear about that. And frankly, I feel infinitely cheesy even thinking it, let alone writing it. So that leaves me with nothing to write about.
Maybe later I'll be back to normal. Or maybe tomorrow.