Love is a slow kiss goodnight.
It is anticipation.
Love is an imperfection in yourself not bothering you.
It is acceptance. :icecream:
Love is passing up an opportunity because the time isn’t right yet.
It is patience.
Love is a back massage that starts above the hairline and ends around the innersoles.
It is exploration.
Love is not having to say, "Let’s make love", because you know what the other person wants.
It is understanding.
It is consideration.
Love is saying the perfect phrase to make a solemn embrace dissolve into giggles.
It is humor.
Love is reviewing the damage to your living room and realizing personal effects are strewn in a clockwise pattern from the front door to the bedroom.
It is desire.
Love is seeing what your lover really looks like for the first time.
It is truth.
Love is knowing what time it is and not caring.
It is joy.
Love is the arms around you tightening their embrace.
It is ecstasy.
Love is seeing a new side of a person you thought you knew.
It is renewal.
Love is telling a person if you have to leave, you will let them sleep, and being told they would rather be awakened.
It is tenderness.
Love is waking up to find the subject of the dream you were having asleep on your shoulder.
It is where fantasy meets reality.
Love is being there to wake your lover. Slowly.
It is sensuousness.
Love is belatedly knowing why you bothered to buy a queen size bed three years ago.
It is practicality.
Love is two people only taking up a third of a queen size bed.
It is closeness.
Love is knowing you gave the extra set of keys to the right person.
It is trust.
Love is saying goodbye and knowing you will be back by mutual consent.
It is faith.
Love is stretching your arms and discovering the real meaning of the word "sore".
It is a lesson in human frailty.
Love is opening your medicine cabinet and finding your toothpaste turned into a pretzel.
It is adaptation.
Love is sitting at the window, looking out and remembering who you were the night before.
It is reflection.
Love is hearing the weather forecast for a winter storm and wishing you could spend it in bed with your lover.
It is loneliness.
Love is stories that will never be told.
It is personal.
Love is a slow kiss goodnight.
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