A Love Letter to the Boy Who Comes in the Store

Dear S.C.
Yesterday, you came in wearing a sweater and my favorite smile.
You ordered your 'usual' - I knew what it was, but you make me nervous, so I asked to make sure I was right. Next time, I'll trust I'm right; I hope you'll be impressed.
I was brave and asked you what your plans were for the day; you said you were going to your place to relax and enjoy the rainy day. Silently, I wished you to ask me to go with you
I wonder what your place looks like. Is it messy or tidy? Are there books? Games? How big is your bed? Are there dirty dishes in your sink? Pictures on the walls? I imagine it a typical bachelor's pad (even though you are anything but typical) with sparse furniture, clothes hanging in odd places. 
Not messy; just a tad disheveled. 
Cozy, a bit rustic, some of the furniture being stuff you made yourself. 
I hope you have books stacked next to the bed. I hope there isn't a TV or a video game in the place. 
I hope you could hear the rain pittering on the roof last night. 
I hope you have a nice dog, one my Huck would like.
I hope you have more than one pillow, but if you don't, that's okay, I can share. 
I want to be that close to you anyway. 
I hope you'll play with my hair, rub my back and ask me how I got the three tiny scars on my stomach. 
I hope you'll hold my hand; I hope you reach for it first. 
I hope you'll read aloud to me, that you'll fall asleep on my stomach, 
that you'll watch me when you think I'm not looking. 
Next time you go to your place up north, I hope you'll ask me to come. 
While you laid in bed last night listening to the rain, I hope you thought of me.
I was certainly thinking about you.

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