Different.
I like the way he puts a tad too much hair gel in and when
it begins to dry, a single piece at the front falls onto
his forehead. I like to fix it for him, but I like how
he'll flick it forward once again after I put it back into
place.
I like the times when we watch movies, but he doesn't watch
them because he's too busy cutely attempting to land
popcorn on my tongue and making sure I'm comfortable.
I also like the times he tells me he's going to take me to
Paris one day, and kiss me underneath the Eiffel Tower at
midnight while everyone else is fast asleep. I like those
times.
And he's different because I know that one day we're
actually going to go there, and he's actually going to kiss
me underneath the Eiffel Tower at midnight while everyone
is fast asleep.
Just us. It's different. He's different.
