The Little Things

I really don’t like it, if I’m being completely honest. 

The way I can only sit smiling, waiting for you to explain your funny story with big gestures as the words that hurriedly escape from your mouth are muffled by your habit of biting your nails.

I’m not a fan of how I look at you for a little too long sometimes, to which you exclaim 

~What?

As you cover your face with your hands, laughing, and I can only say

~I just want to get a good look at you. 

Maybe it’s how sometimes I’ll find an excuse to stop by when you’re stressed and give you your favorite sweet (the sea salt caramel brownies from Kowalski’s). 

I leave quickly after.

I know you’re busy.

I just wanted a kiss, maybe. 

The anxiety that comes with earnestly waiting for your 

~ I’m home!!

Text to light up my screen is no fun. 

I even changed your ringtone too, you know. 

And I always leave my ringer on at night, just in case you have to call. 

You don’t, but just in case. 

I lose sleep for you, with those late-night facetime calls that keep me from finishing my assignments at a reasonable time. 

I don’t mention it, of course. 

I don’t want you to feel bad.

It’s not a problem though, because I’m dying to hear anything you have to say.

I didn’t know I could be so genuinely interested in how anyone’s day has been, but here we are (at 2 a.m., for fuck’s sake). 

And when you speak, I soak in every word. 

I study a lot, and I already have too much information crammed into my head, I think. 

Somehow, though, I’d rather remember how your friend’s ex-girlfriend stirred shit up instead of the Spanish vocabulary I needed to memorize by Tuesday (it was Monday).

I especially don’t like the fact I can run my mouth so easily with you.

I could talk about anything and everything, from discussing my shitting habits to my passion for volleyball. 

You don’t really know the rules of volleyball.

You still nod and chime in, though, and look at me with a face of admiration I never knew I deserved. 

I don’t like how you make me feel so much.

I don’t like how I don’t know what it is I’m feeling, either. 

All I do know, however, is that there are some maybe not-so-terrible things I do like. 

I like your face, for starters. 

You have light brown skin that contrasts so much with my yellow~ish complexion.

And brown eyes with mid-length eyelashes, sometimes tired from nights of unrest, that light up when you laugh. 

You have a big but cute nose, which I squish in a lot. 

Your cheeks are malleable too, so I always stretch them like some affectionate grandmother (you do the same for me, most naturally). 

I like your impulsively shaved head, and soft lips that you insist are chapped.

I honestly never notice. 

You still use up my chapstick though, which makes me want to have another excuse to get you one and stop by. 

I’ll probably want another kiss, maybe.

And I guess I could try the chapstick that way too, right?

Call it quality control. 

I like the silly nicknames we come up with for each other, and how our contacts never stay the same in our phones for longer than a few weeks. 

You’re still Bulbasaur (with a little plant emoji) right now. 

You were Lightbulb last week, and Moosh a few weeks before. 

Moosh means mouse, and it’s the only word you know in Farsi. 

Clearly, as you insist, this means you’re fluent. 

I like the way you dress. 

It’s small, maybe, but I like the big red coat that you thrifted. 

You say you’d have tossed it if it weren’t so warm, but it’s easy to pick you out in a crowd.

The beanie you wear all the time is good too.

You say it makes your ears look pointier, so you look more like an elf. 

You never wear too many black tones, contradicting your apparent emo phase in seventh grade. 

You do, though, wear my volleyball hoodie sometimes. 

It suits you, I think, because it’s mine. 

I like the way you love words, and self proclaim as a logophile. 

I love words as well. 

On our first date, we laid on the basement floor, swiping through your Webster’s Dictionary app and discussing new words, and telling stories relevant to them. 

We cooked Thai curry too, and since I cook often I remember bullshitting the recipe. 

You cut up the onions delicately.

~My best friend cooks a lot, and she says you have to cut it up like this. 

I’m more haphazard than your best friend when it comes to onions, but the slow process seemed funnier as your eyes watered from the pungent vegetable. 

I like the way you laugh because it’s filled with life. 

I like hearing about what you’ve been through, and everything you’ve experienced. 

I feel like I can’t get enough of you, and I just want to know you better than anyone. 

I want to be your person.

I like your perspective, and I like our discussions, even the controversial ones. 

We mostly agree on things, but it’s always lively nonetheless. 

We have our loud moments, but also our quiet ones. 

We go on walks sometimes, even when there’s fresh snow on the ground and our noses run faster than we do. 

We don’t talk the whole time, I feel like.

Observing our surroundings, observing each other. 

Stealing a kiss in the weather-worn trail behind my house. 

Sometimes we’ll just lie together, enjoying one another’s company. 

We agreed that sometimes you don’t always have to be talking and that not all silence is awkward. 

Our silence isn’t awkward. 

You probably don’t know how much I appreciate that. 

I like playing with your hands and kissing them, slender and nimble from playing the bass guitar. 

You usually wear two rings, but, sometimes, you wear more. 

I get a bit caught up with you on occasion, and I don’t know if that’s a good thing. 

I like how once we were sitting on my bed, discussing school and college. 

You weren’t always as exposed to certain academic opportunities as I was, so I described some things you may be interested in. 

I like how you pulled my head in to kiss me when I was done and told me you loved my brain. 

I like how you pulled my head in to kiss me again and told me you loved me so much. 

Maybe I like a lot of things about you.

I don’t even know if the feelings I dislike are all that bad either. 

I know I like you, though. 

And I know I love your brain.

And I think I might just love you, too.