Headlights shine into my window.  It’s 1am, and my phone is buzzing violently.  In tacky pajama pants and an old t-shirt, I slide into my slippers and shimmy out the window. You’re sitting in your car, a bouquet of flowers in the passenger seat and a smile on your face. I open the door, “What’s all this?” I say.  “Oh nothing,” you reply, “I just thought that I should treat my girl.” It’s cold, so you hand me your sweater. It smells like laundry detergent, sweat and you.  You put on some music, a mix of ****** trap songs. We sing along at the top of our lungs until we reach the all night diner. With your sweater fitting me like a dress, I slide my hand into yours and walk into the restaurant. We get a cozy booth and order every dessert on the menu. Hours later, we’re still there. Sick and laughing from too much sugar, there's nowhere in the world I’d rather be.