The first time it was, be patient. The second time I was still without resolution, so I continued to wait, attempting to dismantle and discard the feelings. But here we are, in the months since May, slowly working our way to this — whatever this is. The ease with which we glide past one another tells of the comfort but our glances mark the tension. Some nights, we fall asleep nose to nose, inches away from lips touching. But they haven’t. I’ve done well to bury the wanting to be any nearer to you than we’ve been. I’ve done well to play the distance; comfortably close but not near enough to be caught. Until tonight.
Tonight you ran finger tips across my skin, like you’ve done many nights before, but it wasn’t like the nights before. You traced the ridges of my spine, the valleys between my ribs, and the peaks of shoulder tips. Then you stopped with finger tips hanging for dear life from collar bones, palm resting over my wild heart. I could hear your far-from-sleep breathing. I rolled closer into you, my hand clutching your t-shirt, feeling your far-from-resting beating. I tried to keep my distance. I tried to stay outside of your reach, but I was already caught.
Just as I told her, I thought the feelings were gone; they’re not. They’re there, just beneath the surface. If he does so much as kisses me, I’m a goner. I’ll be lost to him again. And so I may be. With your hand cradling my cheek as you place a kiss upon my forehead, I’m both in my safest place and being pushed from the mountain top.
If we follow our former patterns, I’m sure to lose this. But not tonight.