(no subject)
Whoever thought love would somehow include being called babe or baby? Wasn't I one of the ones laughing at those words so long ago? Whoever thought love would be sitting in the cab of his truck in the parkinglot of his apartment while he who doesn't smoke cigarettes asks for one. Didn't I curse at those who filled their lungs with smoke so long ago? Whoever thought love would be waiting for a phone call and when it came the excitement would overfill every ounce of me possible? Wasn't I always the one in charge of every phone call so long ago? Well love is being called baby and babe. It's sitting in his truck listening to Bright Eyes and Ryan Adams smoking our last cigarette before we head to bed. It's waiting for the phone to ring that silly cat's dance and the excitement filling every part of my being. It's love because of who he is. Because of where he is from, and what he stands for. Because of how hard he makes me laugh, and how often. It's because he accurately calls me on my shit, and stands firm in doing so. It's because we click far better than anyone could have imagined. It's love because when it really is, you just know. And I do.