She loves him like sour gummy worms and those maneki-neko Japanese waving cats that stand guard in almost every Chinese restaurant. She loves him like warm scarves in the winter time and the freckles on their dog. Her love is flavored water and the crack in the spine of a new book. She’s baby socks and finding movie ticket stubs in your pocket months later. She loves him like the three musketeers love France. She’s her love of the color yellow and Batman and ninjas and useless trinkets bought for less than a dollar. She loves him like scented markers and magnetic note pads and organizational tools, not because she actually uses these things but because she loves the illusion of productivity. She’s beaches and mini sweet tarts and bookshelves. To her, he’s like cute baby animals and the noodle-shaped floaties and the intricate details of a Hayao Miyazaki movie.
She loves him with all the idiosyncrasies of herself.
She loves him with everything she is.
She loves him with all the idiosyncrasies of herself.
She loves him with everything she is.
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