Ode to couch

thanks

It's like, if you added up all the couches I spent my summer on, I don't know. Red couch plus green couchx10000 plus her couches(secret cat naps divided by cause your boyfriend slept there that night). The last time “bed” tip toed round the wines second time around and right into the equation, I couldnt help myself, reverting back to the welcoming, rode side charm before anyone even thought about waking up was on my mind. Theres something about sangria that makes everybody a heavy sleeper. Im afraid I'll never look at a four sides and four corners the same again. We'll always remember you as boats of sweat, and silly, fussy, both-socks-on-the-floor flings. This is our ode to making nice with a friend of mines sweetheart so she could find it in her underwear to kick him out for the night and let us wrestle on you. I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but couches before hoes. Guaranteed to be quieter, couch doesnt grind its teeth or talk in its sleep, but bed (you will always keep the fan on the first speed, feet crossed 1,2, all of your jaw in all of your palms, the walls can squeeze their baby blues on their own time because weve got netflix to watch and childhood to choke) friends front doors are always open and youve always got a place of your own to nap tight under the guilty girl in my heart. Don't even get me started on passenger seats.