I like old-fashioned coke bottles and the way the glass fogs up, so I know it’s ice cold. I like the smell in the air after it rains on a mild summer afternoon. I like my stomach in knots, peanut butter ice cream, driving with no destination, freshly fallen snow, the sound of waves crashing in the distance. I like back scratches and goose bumps and laughing at nothing in particular; just for the hell of it. And I think I like you.