I love the strange noises that you make
While drinking tea through a straw
In a four-star restaurant
And the way you glare at those who stare.
I love the way you speak your mind
While others stand quietly in the limelight
And the way you gesture with your hands
While we keep ours safely by our sides.
I love our angry arguments and the way
It seems we shall never ever hold each other again
Until the silence hurts much more than words
And we make up by making out.
I love the way your late-night calls
Wake me up from my Rip Van Winkle sleep
On a Sunday leading to a restless Monday:
”Were you dreaming of me, at least?”
I love the way you tell me to shut up
When I thank you for something that you do:
Rephrasing, with a difference, your favorite ‘Love Story’ line:
”Love means never having to say thank you.”