A house is a home when you come home to someone you adore.
There’s more than one toothbrush in the toothbrush holder.
When you call her at work to see if she’s coming over knowing she’s coming over but you just didn’t feel like going to the store.
When you sleep with the ceiling fan on even though it’s 47 degrees outside because that’s what she wants.
You feel guilt for washing your car and not washing hers.
You come home and it smells like cookies or a cake or any sort of food.
You can’t jam mixtapes but have to jam Christmas music because she’s spent everyday since Thanksgiving making a reef that’s going to be God awful but you have to put it on the door anyway or risk sleeping with one eye open.
You check the mailbox and realize she’s already gotten the mail even…
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