i want to be in your wallet

I want to be in your wallet. I want a little passport photo of me tucked between your debit cards and your ID, waiting quietly beside your spare change. I want the receipts you save to brush against my picture and say, “Well, hello there.” I want someone to pick up your wallet, open it to return it to you, and see me smiling up at them. I want them to pause for a moment, just long enough to think, she must be so loved.

I want you to carry bits of me everywhere you go. My scrunchie around your wrist. My bite mark faint on your shoulder. My scent still clinging to your skin long after I’ve gone. And when it fades, I want you to chase it, chase me, wanting me to linger a little longer. I want my words on the tip of your tongue. I want you to catch yourself saying things only I say, mimicking the slang and sounds that are mine alone. I want my way of speaking to become a part of you without you realizing.

I want to live in the quiet corners of your mind. I want you to think of me mid-conversation, storing random facts and stories just because you want to tell me later. You might never tell me. You might forget. But I want the thought of me stitched into every moment, every word, every passing day. I want the instinct to share to live quietly inside you.

I want us to be the kind of couple people understand without needing an explanation. The right amount of tension, the right amount of banter, of romance, of teasing and laughter. Just right. I want people to look at you, then at me, and ask what you did to have me - not because you’re undeserving of love, but because the way you look at me, the way you hold me, makes it clear: you know exactly what you have.

And if ever I start to feel unsure, if I question your love, I want to be able to close my eyes and remember. I’ll remember how you rush to tell me things, how your head finds its way to my lap like it’s home. How you press kisses gently across my face, how your lips find my wrists like they’re something sacred. How you open doors for me without thinking, how you offer up pieces of yourself without hesitation. How silence isn’t suffocating between us. How our legs find each other under the sheets, how our conversations drift so easily from deep to absurd, from serious to silly, and it never feels out of place.

And most of all, I’ll remember how every time you see me, no matter the hour, no matter where we are, you give me four kisses. One on the lips, one on the jaw, one on the neck, and one on the collarbone. Your own quiet language for: Hi. I missed you. I want you. I love you.

I want to be yours.

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Buy me a coffee or show me love!