When she is happy, she will dance with you in the kitchen until sunrise, and her mouth will find places you never even knew existed. She will laugh like the secrets of the world are hers for the taking and no words of yours will ever feel adequate.

“Tell me you love me,” she begs. “Tell me you want to stay here forever.”

She will wrap her legs around your waist and pull you closer; close enough to forget the last girl and the girl before that.

“Okay,” you murmur. And it’ll be as much an agreement, as it is a plea for her to slow down.

But when she is happy she is not slow. Her hands will find your hands, your hair, your neck, your chest. They will graze the skin until you feel nothing but blood coursing through you like the ocean waves.

“Tell me you love me.” She repeats.

“I do,” you say and you feel like laughing. “I love you. I do.”