How do I know
that I am in love with you
and not infatuated by you?
I'm not sure.
All I know is that
when I search for you
through the crowded streets,
it's not the perfect you
I look forward to.
The one that people look at
when you pass by the street.
The one that wears the perfect shirt
and designer jeans,
with your laced up boots
and perfect hair.
Instead,
the one I look for
is the you that
I get to wake up to,
with heavy lidded eyes
and lazy smiles,
in your rumpled shirt
and mussed up hair.
That sweet moment of instant
recognition when our eyes meet
as we both realize whose
arms were wrapped around us.
The one that bids me
a pleasant morning against my lips
as the sun slowly makes it way up
to a new day.
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