dateanenbysuggest:

It’s the middle of summer. We’re sitting on a checkered picnic blanket together, food we bought at the farmers market spread all around us. Cicadas are chirping, butterflies fluttering around us. The bubbling of a creek nearby. You’re reading a book as I draw a portrait you, you’re biting your lip in concentration. Slowly, you look up and smile, and I tuck your hair behind your ear. We’re safe, warm, happy. Together.