“This is how I want you, he says, I want you in your best moments — those you spend laughing at awful puns so much that your chuckles recede to silent crackles, the seconds you spend with your eyes digging into the pages of your paperback, those tiny moments when your chin bobs in the middle of a hug with your head against my chest, the scent of your shampoo wafting with the smell of you. Soap and something citrusy. And people who pretend they give a fuck would go about saying how wanting someone at their best alone is dumb, and that everything should be taken into consideration. But I want your best moments. I want your best self. And because of that, I already love your worst, and if I’m not to be considered lucky for having both, then fuck the world. Fuck the world and the judgmental mentality it constantly drags along. You can’t put a scale on someone’s best descriptions when you haven’t decided what’s worst. But I have. I have and the scale is nonexistent, because everything just seems to clash with a single look from you, and it fucking takes my breath away. Every single time.”
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