I like the ones with the long hair and grey eyes. The ones with broad shoulders, who play guitar as effortlessly as they breathe.
I like the ones who roll up on their motorcycle ten minutes late, ask you to hop on the back with a cheeky grin and pink helmet held out. The ones that are impossible not to forgive.
I like the ones that watch obscure movies and dance under the stars at music festivals. The ones with soft voices that speak of Radiohead and Montreal, who taste like cigarette smoke and summer.
I like the ones with teak desks and vinyl collections. The ones with leather boots and wool sweaters, worn surfboards and sailboats covered in peeling paint.
I like the ones who wake up at noon, put Beck on in the background while they make you coffee. The ones who read classics shirtless on the deck while you lie on their chest.
I like the ones that photograph you like they love you. The ones that do it so well you forget all about the other beautiful women in their photos.
I like the ones who look deep into your eyes while making love. The ones that take three days to text back, but then write they’ve been thinking about you nonstop.
I like the ones that straight up let you know they want adventures with you, but don’t want to marry you. The ones that are careless with their money and even more careless with your heart.
I should know better – but I like the ones that you know will break your heart with thoughtless ease. The ones that whisper goodbye with the most beautiful words. The ones who say they’ll carry your memory in their heart forever, and then leave you just like that, with a charming smile and a soft kiss.