I Know Who I Want

It was strange coming home without you tonight, after having had the luxury of going to sleep with you for two nights, and waking up next to you for two mornings. This place I call my home scarcely feels like “home” without you here, even if I have lived in it fourteen years.

They say the passion fades and gives way to a tarnishing familiarity, eventually. That much I have believed with all those before. You, however, still make me leap and lurch and long – with warmth and dizzy delight. With longing.

When I returned the room was exactly as we’d left it. Two bottles of water for you, one for each night. Creases in the sheets as we left it this morning, after a particularly extensive wakeup routine. My ridiculous arrangement of the pillows and sheets (you know I typically don’t bother).

It was here where we laid, months ago, quivering in fear and uncertainty, but just knowing the other’s innocent kiss was enough. I feel like a child just showing you all the spots, the few you, my clever little girl, hadn’t already figured out – here is where I sit stroking my stuffed duck while I talk to you every night, here is where I fought back trying not to want you, and here and now is where I succumb, so take me in your arms.

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