As I turn around a 180 and re-witness him slinging his arms across the breadth of my bed with trickling of his childlike habits, I begin to grow a little fonder of his bedtime routines. The air of this night has tempered to a chilly-breezed date to mark closely in a heart's calendar.

Each moment with and without him now is a moment of concern; if he's being tucked warm enough or if the blanket's causing a sweat out, if dinner's ambiance was mind-blowingly romantic and if the cuisines served were delightful to his taste buds, if he prefers me in my little red laced or littler black thongs, if my dressing was pleasing to his eyes, if the colour and type of flowers were suitable to his liking, if he wants his uniform re-ironed in the morning, if he's forgotten to remember bringing his key pouch and wallet and phone with him when we head out, if he's woken up after snoozing on my daily alarm calls, and the list could go on endlessly. And each moment, is a flower in my hair and a future stab in my chest. So may time improve this love and nurture a sense of foreverness in both our hearts.









My days have gotten familiar with this certain man who was once stranger than Mars and Venus. Bobby has brought the classroom essentials of love to a whole new level and we'll indefinitely be seeing more than these four months. And myself, I couldn't cradle a more requited relationship with this man of coincidence. Four months, and I know I'll never get enough of you.

To love, to you, to me, to us.