You're a Foot Shorter

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Even though he’d tease you incessantly about not being able to reach the glasses in the top of the cabinet without climbing up the counter like a monkey and complain about it being too easy to lose you in a crowd without tying a balloon to your belt loops, he’d secretly love the way you’d be able to tuck up underneath his arms, the way your nose was angled just right for his lips to meet, the way your arms naturally fell just below his waist when you’d rest your chin on his chest and peer up at him. He liked the way your body felt cocooned in his, liked the way he felt he could physically protect you from all the hurt in the world just by wrapping his long arms around you (and back onto himself because you’d just seem to disappear somewhere inside his tight grip). The best would be when you’d begin a laugh while trapped in his vice because for a moment it’d feel like somewhere deep in his soul he himself was laughing without even realizing it, but then your head would pop up from his chest and your giggles would fill the air and he’d realize it was you all along. But he’d swear that in those moments his heart beat somehow melded to yours and maybe somewhere deep down—really deep down—he was laughing. Because sometimes he really wouldn’t be able to tell if you were two souls or one or if the silly chuckles were coming from your mouth or his, and honesty, well.. he wouldn’t want it any other way. 

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