I wake up, and forget where I am for a moment.
I remember being tangled up in you, our voices slurring into sleep as we drifted away. I take stock of my body, my legs straight out, and my arms curving on either side. I look down at my right hand, and I see your face pressing into the back of it. I smile.
At some point during the night, we untangled ourselves, but your face is leaning in to touch my hand. And there’s something about that that just makes my chest do this sigh as you stir and straighten yourself. You head tilts towards me, and I take this moment to look at you when you can’t notice.
You’re beautiful. You’re so beautiful that every time you look at me, I’m wondering why in the hell you’re choosing to spend your time with me. And I don’t tell you this because it sounds so teenagery and silly. And you would make a face and say, “okay,” in the deadpan way you do whenever I say an opinion about you that you don’t think is true.
But I think don’t think that just because of your genetics. It was just a gut feeling I had about you when we were only acquaintances who occasionally popped into each other’s lives to make the other person laugh. It’s just you. In all the ways that I currently know and all the ways I’m learning, and all the ways I will continue to learn. All the ways that I want to. It was just something in my system that clicked and said, “Yes… This is going to be good.”
I’ve been hurt so many times before. I worked really hard to not be a negative consequence of it all, but I can’t deny the scars and reflex to preserve and protect myself. I make jokes that, knowing my history, this thing has every possibility of imploding on itself and falling apart. Because I haven’t known anything differently the past three years. I can’t deny that there aren’t damages I’m slowly working on fixing every day. Same story, just different guy. I can tell you how it ends before it begins.
I can’t tell with you. You constantly surprise me and unnerve me. Everything about you and with you is different, and I am in murky waters. And it’s utterly terrifying. But I’m here. I’m here and it’s exciting and scary. I bounce from happily taking it slow, to worrying and over thinking, which is just reflexive.
Somewhere in all these thoughts, I fall asleep. When I wake again, we’re facing each other, and you pull me in closer to your warm body. You nestle into my chest as I wrap my arms around you, running my fingers through your hair. You breathe deeply and wrap your other hand around you to hold my hand. I breathe you in and a calm happiness washes over me.
I didn’t realize how starved I was for this. How I had accepted that someone wouldn’t freely and willingly give me back the same affection and care that I gave him. But you do. Each time, you do. I know I’m safe to say what I want and behave how I wish with you. I don’t watch myself with you. I don’t limit or second guess. I don’t feel hidden or like I’m competing with someone else, or a ghost. At least, I hope I’m not.
You look up at me and kiss me. And when you pull back, my head’s still pushing forward. Every time you kiss me, I’m yours. It’s hard to take just one. You say “good morning,” before wrapping your arms tighter.
I have been hurt many times before this. I know very well how things have their ends, and everything comes with a time limit. So I appreciate and cherish each moment. I remember these micro moments that go unnoticed by the rest of the world. So, even if this thing does work out, and even if it does fall apart, I hope you know how cared for you are. I hope you can tell with each look and each touch from me, how adored you are.
You cup my face in your hands, and it weakens me. You stroke my hair and kiss my forehead, and I close my eyes. I just want to remember this.
And I’m an old romantic who weakens at night when she writes, and I will play the emotions up and overdramatize them in order to sell the feeling. I’m good at it. I’ve been writing this way for years.
So, whether I scare you away because I am too assertive or because I care too deeply or timing turns out to be a bitch yet again… Or maybe… Maybe it doesn’t end. Maybe there’s hope and possibility. I hate that I’m scared to feel that. I hate that when I say these things out loud, people are always so surprised. But talk to me late at night. Talk to me when the sun sets, and the night stretches on into forever. I will be vulnerable and truthful with you.
You hold me close, settling your arm around my side. I rub my head against your chest as my breathing falls in rhythm with your heartbeat. I squeeze you tightly before lacing my fingers with your other hand.
All of that aside, I’m happy. You make me happy. I can’t tell you all that you’ve already done for me without even knowing it. And I will be forever thankful for it. Grateful, even, for how easy and fun and wonderful this has been so far. I’m trusting the process and letting each day happens as it may. It’s a lot easier to do that this time around. I’m a lot stronger and more comfortable with myself and what I want this time around. And I just cherish every bit of it.
All I know is that I know nothing. I am along for this ride of seeing where this goes. This wonderful, fun, easy, and enamored thing. Because I do not hesitate and I do not falter. I don’t blanche or cower or disappear. Sweets, I’m not of the faint of heart. And I hope realize it. And I hope you don’t let it go.