We’ll be sitting together in public and you’ll put your hand on my upper thigh and caress it, and we’ll laugh loudly over inside jokes. I constantly catch you staring at me as if I’m the only person you care to look at in the world, and I adore it. I look forward to seeing you all the time, I adore you. I’m terrified to admit it, but I really REALLY adore you. And yet… We have no label. We arn’t “talking” we are certainly not dating, and were not friends with benefits either. So whats the deal? If I can give you a back massage without you asking, or cuddle up to you and take a nap under your soft green lime sheets. If I can be introduced to your entire family and they all love me. If I can kiss you and MEAN it, something that hasn’t happened in a while mind you. Then I’m pretty damn positive you could atleast articulate how you feel more than “I like you” and “I don’t really know what we are.” No fucking shit you don’t know what we are, WE HAVE NO FUCKING LABEL! But I’m going enjoy the sweet caresses, and the stolen nights, and the sneaky kisses. I’m going to enjoy holding your hand as you try to get me onto your surf board and nipping your neck everytime I want to turn you on. I’m going to enjoy this until you break me or it simply ends. Because I deserve a little damn enjoyment.