the sound of trees creaking in the wind

the smell of old books

how many different textures of paper there are (none of them should be scratched)

the warmth on the underside of a dinner plate

falling

when i’ve found something new to be curious about

the look of flickering, green light on your faces, filtered through the trees above you

the tip top tapping of a keyboard

hidden treasures in antique stores, i pretend i’m the only one who knows them

bookstores that use tables and piles more than they do shelves

how soft liza’s ears are

the squirt ejected by a fresh orange when you dig your fingers in a little too deep

the little ego boost that comes from eye contact with you

my cheeks after a fresh shave

your little fingers in between my little fingers

that soft soft part on the inside of a crewneck

the smell of hardware stores