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You like lists.
Your eyes change colour.
You carry my suitcases without complaint.
Your hands feel like satin.
You're always warm and safe feeling.
You make me bend over laughing and choke crying in the same instant.
You look at me every day as if i'm some lovely thing you never saw before.
You don't get tired of me.
You half read books.
You know of every film ever made.
You're nervous.
You're unnaturally fond of burritos.
You are unfailingly kind.
You write beautifully, when you write.
You have doubt in yourself.
You pick up accents (badly) with ease.
You like Bob Dylan.
You don't write enough.
You look especially handsome in green/blue.
You have the most infectious smile known to man.
Your laugh makes people forget all the bad in the world.
Your handwriting looks like artistic grafitti.
You have perfect upper arms.
You are generous to a fault.
You are fond of red envelopes.
You are one of the the few true gentlemen left.
The things you love you love wholeheartedly.
You have a certain melting touch.
You cause those who love you to worry for you, although you don't intend to.
You need a laptop.
You are a glutton for mp3's.
You are wonderous at the future of technology.
You are a font of information regarding geology.
You like to win arguments.
You make me unworthy.
You're a 'good catch'.
You like to call my sister large.
You repeat my name like a mantra.
You were meant to be rich.
You have excellent taste in poetry.
You have a voice that has always made me weak at the knees.
You read with grace.
Your presence offers a certain protection.
You smell like home.
You need to shave every day.
You are a bad driver.
You are the best of travelling companions.
You notice things that I don't.
You have a British friend who loves you dearly, thanks God every day for your friendship and the comfort it brings her, thinks of you as a miracle in her life, has great faith in you and would do anything she could to make you happy.
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