Your web-browser is very outdated, and as such, this website may not display properly. Please consider upgrading to a modern, faster and more secure browser. Click here to do so.
I just want to invite Louis Tomlinson over for nice brunches or have Louis Tomlinson invite me over for nice brunches, and have it turn into an all-day thing because we ended up going to the grocery store to get something we forgot, and while we were there we saw cookie dough or ice cream sandwiches or jelly doughnuts or a Boston cream pie, and we just had to buy them, and then we spent the afternoon lying against each other on the couch channel surfing and saying sarcastic things and eating sweets till the sun set and maybe one of us fell asleep on the other, and then the one who was still awake very gently slipped out from under them and went to the kitchen to make two cups of tea. I want to take up a hobby that culminates in some sort of public performance, so I can invite him and then look out into the audience and see his eyes shining with pride. I want to babysit his baby cousins with him, or help him take care of his friends’ cats, or share an umbrella with him while walking slowly in the rain, and have long talks about important things and not important things, and hear all the dreams he has in his pretty head, and text him late at night so we both fall asleep with our phones rumbling gently in our hands, and get off the subway with him and walk up stairs and feel his hands on my butt because he’s pretending to push me up, and go to fun museums and stand behind him with my arms around his waist while we look at things, and cry on his shoulder when I feel bad and have him tell me everything’s okay, and do the same for him.