Play House

I love it when we play house. When I come home to you and I race to kiss you first but your lips are already ready for me.

I love it when we play house and you’re the messy one and I’m trying to… not.

I love that the house smells of bacon and I’m kind enough to put my manicure on outside.

I’m in love with the thought of cooking for you but if I had to clean the house everyday I think you’d need to give me more than just a walk-in closet.

I like that you can be in one room and I in another or we can be across the street from each other and I can still feel you.

One day you’ll walk in on me dancing around the room with my headphones on while I’m listening to Phoenix’s Too Young because I’m currently addicted to that song and one day, I’ll catch you trying my lipstick on and it will just be the best time of my life. You’ll not only know but will EXPERIENCE Issa of no bathingland but you will also experience the issa of leavemealone land. And God forbid to I ever have an encounter a paolo of supergassyland and paolo of doeverythingformeland.

We’re playing house like it’s something that’s second nature to us except I don’t know your dogs rituals yet and I don’t have a desk with a window with a view and my own desktop where I can write my Sunday mornings away. I have Pharell’s “Happy” on constant replay resounding in my head and you know what, it really isn’t a bad thing.

You really aren’t a bad thing.