When someone loves you, they drive up and down your street, just to get a glimpse at you....
when someone loves you, they will leave you their bed, their rice cooker, t.v and dvd player....
when someone loves you, you want to tatoo the word you both share for love, across their body....
when someone loves you, they breathe you and you are in their every thought....
when someone loves you, they lock you out of their bedroom when you have been bad, to teach you to love and respect them more....
when someone loves you, you walk into the supermarket and think, do they need wheat bix or deodorant....
when someone loves you, they aren't thinkin bout building up their "kill count", they are thinking about you....
when someone loves you, there is no time to waste, the present is now and you are now....
when someone loves you, you wipe away their sleep. their tears, their snot, their juice, their sweat and their blood....
when someone loves you, you stand alone, in a room full of people, wishing they were there....
when someone loves you, they wrap their bodies around you all night long, even when its too hot....
when someone loves you, you don't mind sharing tooth brushes...
when someone loves you, you fix their hair after they insisted on doing it themselves....
when someone loves you, they paint for you,
when someone loves you, you feed them, then allow them to finnish your food....
when someone loves you, they help you learn your lines, no matter how tired they are....
when someone loves you, they believe in you and your dreams....
when someone loves you, they call you to tell you they got home safe.....
when someone loves you, they man-up....
when someone loves you, you can leave their arms in the morning and return to them, open, ready, waiting.....
when someone loves you, there is no such thing as selfishness....
when someone loves you, they get tired, drained and wish it wasn't so hard....
they wonder if it is all worth the pain....
thats when the love begins to drip, down their bodies, over all the curves and dimples, the edges and folds, through the hair and down the nails, off the toes and onto the ground....
and when it hits the dirt, it either gets washed away to start over again, fresh, or it dries there to stain, to leave a mark upon the land, where it all began, begins, or where it will end....
where is our love, is it wet and washed or dried and stained, to scar?
