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I feel like the music that comes from your mouth,
floating in the air like your hot breath on a winter night.

Everything you've said has been said before
but somehow it seems like more
coming from your rough lips while you stand by my front door.

I don't know why this is
maybe it's your way you run through the rain,
laughing as you call my name.
The way you know all the words to my favorite songs,
but pretend not to sing along.
Maybe it's because you're the person I came running to when I got my first speeding ticket.
Or the way you'll challenge me to a game
and not call it cheating when I win it.
Maybe it's the way you called me late at night after our first big fight to apologize.

Out of all of these little things,
My favorite doesn't even seem pertinent,
I realized why you were so great very early,
on our first real date.

I ordered a salad because my friends had told me to,
and you wore your daddy's tie, because you were shy.
I was so nervous, I kept asking about the weather,
but in the middle of my sentence,
you leaned over,
and whispered:

I don't care if you eat the steak,
I don't mind if you make mistakes.
I don't need you to wear the tightest dress you own for me to think you're beautiful.
The weather doesn't matter to me,
because it's right in front of me.
You're my rainstorms and rainbows,
and everything in between,
and whatever you want, I'll be.




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