... If love is a thing that scratches at the bed room door until you let her in, then digs under the blankets till she nestles at your side and proceeds to try to lick at your armpit all night long. Or if love was the thing that warms its self in your kitchen window herb garden, and uproots the basil seedlings out of boredom. Or if love is the thing that runs all over the house at the sound of your voice, filling the air with taptaptaptap sounds as her bare little feet hit the wood floor. Which love is.
Wednesday, December 09, 2009
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