babyforeverbaby

in my mind you look gorgeous in scarves.

but you are not a hipster. and neither am i, for that matter.


hardwood floors, because they just look more expensive than carpet does.

and of course, my fireplace. it's too big; but you're trying to prove something i guess.


"lindsey."

you never say my name like it's a question.

my name, in your mouth, is always only a statement.


i twist my body around from where i'm sitting on the floor, throwing marshmallows into the flames.


"you're wasting everything; why dont you go ahead and throw my wallet in there, while you're at it." i stuff my hand to the very bottom of the bag and pull out a fistful; pillowy food bouncing out of my overflowing fingers, scattering happily. i stare at you as i toss the handful in and giggle a little when i can hear them melting and sizzling. ruining your expense.


you and i both know none of this matters, anyways.

the hardwood floors.

the fireplace.

the marshmallows.


i turn back around and feel my face get hot, fast. i dont hear you move behind me, still pressed and presentable from your days work. i'm wearing nothing but a slip, cotton socks and my red hair dirty, pulled up, and threatening to leave you.


you hook a finger underneath one strap of the slip and i dont even flinch; i didnt have to know you were there to have read ahead. we've both got this book memorized.


"lindsey. you are exhausting." i smirk at the fireplace and narrow my eyes at the burning ash.

"obviously; let's just say i've made it an art: predicting you." he rips my strap. i catch it. 


everything we do has been done before.