What love is

“You smell like home,” I say at exactly 00:39 AM. He stirs up; confused, warm, sleepy.

“Huh? I smell like home? … Thank you, I guess,” he manages to utter with his eyes still half closed. Suddenly he kisses my forehead, clearly putting a lot of effort into the gesture, then turns over.

“This is what love is,” I think.

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