"I fell in love with the
morning, how you stumbled out
of bed when you first woke up,
and how your eyes groaned with
exhaustion.
The way your hands grasped my
hipbones while your lips stole
the ending of my sentences.
Everyday with you felt like a
month of Sunday mornings with
white bed sheets and lazy
smiles.
The same morning, I fell in
love with the coffee shop down
the street, and the way you
asked for two sugars, but you
actually meant three.
The walk home from your house
made me remember what Monday
mornings feel like.
Somewhere in between falling
in love with our midnight
conversations that were
exhaled through cigarette
breaths and interrupted by
coffee stains,
and reading the love notes you
had written on my flesh,
I realised,
I am in love with the presence
of your words
and the feel of your
existence.

But I am not in love with you."