Left Notes By Your Bedpost.

I’m not saying sex. I don’t need that. I’m saying staying up reading kindergarten books with you, not necessarily reading them, but reminscing on how we used to love reading these over and over, especially the ones where you can feel the dog’s fur and the alligator’s scales. I’m saying playing card games and boardgames. Watching you make the most adorable faces at me and sticking your tongue out everytime you win and saying psh, I just let you win everytime I do. I’m saying making handshadows on the wall. Laying a flashlight on the floor and making our hand puppets pretend to eat each other. I’m saying popping a good CD or putting your ipod on the ihome while we just lay there drawing pictures with our fingers in the air. I’m saying finger food. Getting all the fruits, crackers, chips, and candy from the kitchen, blindfolding me, and telling me you’re going to feed me a strawberry and you put a lemon in my mouth. I’m saying looking at pictures. Going through albums of when we were babies and what our parents looked like in high school. I’m saying star gazing. Opening the curtains and letting the moon be the only source of light in the room. Pointing out constellations and naming stars after one another. I’m saying prank calls. Laying down next to each other, on our stomachs, looking through yellowpages, and practicing our british, indian, or asian accents before we dial the number. I’m saying just maxing. Snuggling next to each other, letting our bodies touch as if we’re about to dance the tango. Our chests are glued to one another and our arms and legs are interlaced. I’m not saying sex. I don’t need that.