What lovers do
"Is that you?" I ask, as my eyes hover lazily at some small framed picture on the bedside table. Yes babe, I was cute wasn't I? He responds and turns over to bury his face in my shoulders. "Ah you were, but what happened hun?" He now wakes up to tickle me hard, and for he knows my weak spots I have to retract those bad things I spoke to him. "Sorry hun, I've stopped. You're drop dead gorgeous even now, why else would I voluntarily chose to wake up next to you all these times? But if I may ask, how much do you remember about your childhood, how was it like?" He sits, leaning on the piles of pillows and begins telling me the story of his life. This goes on for the better part of our Sunday morning, and I tell him about mine too. This happens all the time, the vulnerable, heartfelt pillow talks in the morning that keep me hooked for how vivid and dramatic of a storyteller he is. He's such a mood for days I swear. My humor needs have such