I love nights that never stray far from seventy degrees.  I love the way that moonlight looks splashed across calm faces.  I love the rain, even when it’s an ugly day.  I love cemetaries and all the strange reverence we leave there.  I love mocking people whose feelings I will never see hurt.  I love imagining that I’m worth remembering, even though I know very well that I am not.  I love thinking that I’m the one who got away, when all along, I’m the one that was never chased.  I love the timbre of voices cooing in pleasure and laughter.  I love stupid jokes.  I love the deep bass of a man’s voice, and generally long to put my ear to his chest to hear it more purely.  I love being touched on the shoulders or the nape of my neck.  I love the dances we engage in every single day.  I love not having to say out loud everything I’d like to convey.  I love going.  I love breasts, and everything they do.  I love places where I can see the stars.  I love feeling that I’ve wrapped up everything.  I love a healthy sense of paranoia.  I love ice.  I love music that is melancholy, but with words that offer some promise.  I love being barefoot.  I love catching someone’s eye, even if I’m not very good at holding it.  I love being in love.  I love all the people I’ve surrounded myself with, in all their complexity and curiousness.  I love smiling all the time.  I love myself.