To me, love never feels familiar. It feels brand new every time. I'm not sure if it's because as we get older, our meaning of love changes. Or if our our awareness of ourselves and our chemistries are heightened, or if we are able to appreciate another generous, beautiful human being more wholly and truly. Like not taking for granted the kindness you see in his eyes, or shying away from the vulnerability projected in your own--the wide, open promise that you would, if you could, give this person the world. Or how whether lying on the couch or standing over the stove, the curve of your body falls magnetically into his. And how, at least for now, he finds most of your quirks not only laughable, but charming. And in the times when you find yourselves apart, you think of ways to express this gratefulness and the joy that you'll see him very soon, but not soon enough.

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