When I think of you and me (and 'us', and 'we'), I don't feel overcome with
burning passion like we're a house on fire or a blazing comet or
anything like that - rather it feels good and warm and constant; like a
cup of tea after a long day, or digging your toes into sand at the beach, or like hearing an old song you thought you'd forgotten
about on the radio. It's less like furious sex and more like
holding hands and quiet smiles and sticking my feet under your bum
because my toes get cold. It's less like going out an exciting adventure
and more like coming home.
