He woke up and automatically reached for her, but only found empty space. Yawning, he got out of bed and padded into the kitchen in her bunny slippers (he knew he shouldn’t have let her pack his bedroom stuff).
   It was their first Sunday morning in their new apartment. Sunlight streamed in through the polished windows, and she was sitting on one of the unpacked boxes, already sipping her coffee and flipping through one of her poetry books. His favorite mug was sitting on another box across from her, fresh coffee billowing steam, beckoning him.
 He smiled and took his silently indicated seat and brought the mug up to his lips and took a moment to inhale the aroma.
“Weirdo” she muttered without looking up, but he could see her small smile behind her book.
He laughed and leaned back on the box. It was one of his- he could tell because of the clear packaging tape neatly sealing the plain brown cardboard clearly labelled “Kitchen”.
Her boxes were from appliances, shoes, gifts, and various projects she had gotten herself into- boxes she had accumulated over the years and had never thrown out or recycled and were haphazardly taped with the ridiculous craft duck-tape she loved to collect- duck-tape of all the colors of the rainbow, colorful designs, smiley faces, flowers. He recalled fondly how, when they first loading boxes, he had looked at hers and held his head in his hands…“Um, Love, you- you didn’t label them?” Her eyes lit up as she proceeded to show him that the boxes with the yellow smiley face tape were “kitchen stuff”, the ones with the plain blue tape were “boring books”, the ones with the flamingos were “good books”, and the ones with the daisies…
Here her face scrunched up with concentration as she pointed to them “er…those are…um, miscellaneous?”
And he wanted to be annoyed, he wanted to give her the lecture on the importance and benefits of organization he had gave to nearly everyone he knew (the one she often exaggeratedly mimed from behind his back whenever he started) but all he could do was burst out in laughter as he saw her mildly horrified expression, and kissed her on the forehead.
She was a mess, but he was in love, and as he sipped his coffee that she had so lovingly set out for him, he looked at her, sporadically flipping through the book, closing it and opening it to a random poem, dog-earing the ones she liked. She was the antithesis to his previously rigid, neat, organized life and instead of messing him up, the sight of her made him feel ready to take on the world everyday, and as he watched her proceed to write in the margins of a page, it struck him how strange, how random, how hilarious and absolutely beautiful love was.
—  Duck-tape, an excerpt from a book I’ll (probably) never write #4