Now that I’ve woken up spooning you, my morning cock lightly pressing against your ass, I don’t want to wake up any other way ever again.

I wasn’t a dog person before I met you. I made fun of dog people. Now I run across the street to hug your dog and call her “my sweet baby girl!” What have you done to me?

Remember when we were like, “We should do an art project called Blood Oath Daily where we take turns writing funny / pretty / meditative / horny things about life and each other. That would be rad”? And then I bought the domain and we launched it on the equinox and haven’t missed a day since? I feel like everything we do is going to be this way: a funny / pretty / meditative / horny idea, and then an insane level of follow through resulting in something that is magically, unmistakably a manifestation of the collective “us.”

When you notice me looking at your ass, you turn away from me and lean over slightly and say, “What?” and I say, “Oh my God you’re killing me,” and you say, “What… this?” and I say, “Seriously, I’m dying,” and you say, “What… I’m so confused,” and you lean over to pick some imaginary object off the ground and then I die.