In the Night

Just after midnight we were thrown into wakefulness by a crashing from the bathroom. Content in our awareness that it was nothing malevolent, just a faulty shower caddy tumbling from the wall, we adjusted and waited for our heart rates to return to a resting low. Yours quickly returned while mine refused to settle. With sore joints and a newly restless mind, I rolled over to the glow of my phone and began catching up on my articles.

Minutes passed and your breathing returned to the deep and rhythmic inandout that I loved. I read story after story, still unable to put my mind to rest. Adjusting your position, your legs and torso curled further, pushing against me with your backside, unaware of your own movements. You looked so small with your limbs sleepily folded; so peaceful; so beautiful.

Words began to pour into my mind:

We are a tumbling mess of limbs as we drop our defenses and fall in and against and along side one another.

We are imperfect in all the right ways; our protrusions and rough edges carefully sliding past and settling into the other’s concavities, filling them so naturally.

You adjusted again, unfurling your long legs and rolling onto your back, your face turning toward the glowing light on my face. Hey, you.

I cast aside my distraction and turned back to your sleep-soft face. Placing kisses ever so softly against your shoulders, your back, your neck, your forehead and your stubbled cheek. Tired and contented sighs escaped your chest, I couldn’t keep from running my fingertips in trails across your skin, I couldn’t keep from kissing your curves and corners. I was in love, so completely, in that moment. My heart was full and racing, threatening to explode. You are my everything, and I wanted you to feel it, I wanted you to know.

And so it went, for the next couple hours: a quietly spilling out of love while we wrapped arms around one another, intertwined our legs and pulled closer until our hearts struck the other through muscle and flesh. I couldn’t bear to release you, even for a moment. The words were pouring out and I just let them fall to the ground without putting them to paper because I didn’t want the moment to end, I didn’t care how many words I had telling me how the moment felt, I wanted to be in it, completely, and with my whole attention.

This is what loving you feels like, a whole body wrecking as we collide in the moonlight; a casting off of unrelated requirements so that I might spend a few more moments tucked with such care inside the cavities of your chest, caressing your heart in ways it never knew it needed to be touched.



You have single-handedly redefined so many words for me: connection, comfort, security, right, love…

Before you, “connection” was simply having a number of fairly inconsequential things in common, it was attraction. It didn’t ensure compatibility. Before you, “comfort” was the word that I threw around when I knew how to make someone laugh, when they could reciprocate, it was when I could easily fall asleep at their side. Before you, “security” was nothing to do with my emotional well-being. It was nothing I ever knew. It was an idealistic goal for a future I wasn’t sure I was ever going to find. Before you, “right” just meant things weren’t horribly wrong, it meant that I still saw something worth clinging to. It was a word I fought to associate with. Before you, “love” was cheap. It was simply attraction and affection. It was well-meaning and hopeful. It was desperate and heartbreaking.

Before you, I struggled to foster connections; I struggled to create comfort; I struggled to imagine what security would feel like; I struggled to make things right; I struggled to love.

Before you, I tried to decide which of these words, these values I could give up, which factors I could compromise to find my future. Before you, I fought for futures I should have let go. I’m so glad I finally let them all go, so glad I finally shut those doors and cautiously opened the door that you strolled through.

You. You are right. You are so good. You, my dear, are love.


A Declaration

I’m no stranger to the declarations of attachments never-ending
— to attractions uncomprehending. I’m no stranger to the falling
and I’m thankful, oh so thankful for the lessons learned from love lost
but oh how I wish this had been the first, the only time I’d meant it.
Darling, as we laid there with the street lights speckling our faces,
the corner of your mouth curling as your secrets spill from wary lips,
I knew this was different. You are different. I am different with you
in the best ways. In the only ways that matter. I want you my dear,
more than I’ve ever wanted this thing, this closeness and possibility.
To say I have high hopes doesn’t touch the closest of these dreams.
Words make no mark comparable to my affections. They lack the means
to express the rate and the height from which I’m tumbling into you.



Where did you come from and how did you find me? The anxiety of “new and unsure” still plagues my judgement and spoils my action, but I want you. Oh, do I want you.

I’m starved for eyes that see me, for hands that can’t hold close enough. I’m hungry for your mouth on mine, for the tangling of our limbs and the slowing down of time. I’m hungry to know you.

Honey, I want to wake with you laying bare beside me, limbs outstretched, face soft with sleep. I want to reset the timeline, for today to mark the start, the day you swore to let me in and keep me close, and I did the same.


Not Yet

I’m well aware that I’m not the only one, but it feels no less odd to play the mental movie, to view scenes of idealized interaction. It’s no less weird to play the part of the calm, cool, and collected woman sharing stories and eating takeout as we walk shoulder to shoulder down the sidewalk. To be the woman whose pace quickens as she circles around in front of you, her legs deftly reaching backward as yours reach out for them in time with the pounding in her chest. To be the woman whose free hand reaches out to slow you, fingers falling softly against your chest. Your feet stop their forward movement, eyes lock in curious challenge. Rising, her hand comes to rest as the contour below your ear fills the gap between palm and thumb, your heartbeat raging just beneath your skin. Her toes press into the ground, lifting her as she gently pulls your lanky frame closer. Eyes soften and close as her mouth finds y—brrrrring brrrrring!

Sharp and shrill, the ring of the phone brings me back. Exhale. I’m not that sure and steady woman, not entirely. Not yet?