The rain hits the windshield in light drops; almost unnoticeable. You reach over and take my hand. I can feel you smile even without looking over. Your warmth radiates as I move to the right lane. I'm in no hurry and I just want to be with you. We reach my tiny and it feels like home... our home, even though I built it. It's like you were always meant to be there; like you were always there when I dreamed her.
We run inside to escape the now heavy rain and I think of this time last year. I think of how lonely it was. I think about the stress of flood evacuations and the grief of loss. And in that moment, I feel your hand on my back. My mind rushes back to now. To you. To the tingles radiating from your fingers, up my back, down my legs. And the militant presence you exude. Your sweet confidence reminds me that I am safe; I am whole; I am loved.
Your locks brush my shoulder as you kiss my temple. We don't speak. We don't have to. Instead we go about our day. We laugh and dance and cook and chat and do nothing and make sweet love and fuck and all of the things and none of the things. There is no effort in your presence. We just are.
And at some point, I turn to you. Or you turn to me... I can't remember which... you look deep into my eyes. You gently stroke my cheek and kiss me deeply. You tell me you love me. or I tell you. I really can't remember.
Because when you say those words, it's like I've heard them
in my heart over and over since the first time we touched hands awkwardly on our first date- just to feel each other's skin. And when I say those words it's like they've always lived in the back of my throat. Waiting for you. Waiting for this moment in Guerneville. Like everything-- the heartache and the fights and the silence and the ghosting and the shitty dates and the nights alone and the wondering if I would be alone forever-- this everything was just waiting for you.
It's not a big deal, even though it is really a big deal. It's just that we finally found home. And we both know that.
And we fuck and nap and laugh and make love and kiss and do all the things until we fall asleep in this tiny house we created in our hearts.
We run inside to escape the now heavy rain and I think of this time last year. I think of how lonely it was. I think about the stress of flood evacuations and the grief of loss. And in that moment, I feel your hand on my back. My mind rushes back to now. To you. To the tingles radiating from your fingers, up my back, down my legs. And the militant presence you exude. Your sweet confidence reminds me that I am safe; I am whole; I am loved.
Your locks brush my shoulder as you kiss my temple. We don't speak. We don't have to. Instead we go about our day. We laugh and dance and cook and chat and do nothing and make sweet love and fuck and all of the things and none of the things. There is no effort in your presence. We just are.
And at some point, I turn to you. Or you turn to me... I can't remember which... you look deep into my eyes. You gently stroke my cheek and kiss me deeply. You tell me you love me. or I tell you. I really can't remember.
Because when you say those words, it's like I've heard them
in my heart over and over since the first time we touched hands awkwardly on our first date- just to feel each other's skin. And when I say those words it's like they've always lived in the back of my throat. Waiting for you. Waiting for this moment in Guerneville. Like everything-- the heartache and the fights and the silence and the ghosting and the shitty dates and the nights alone and the wondering if I would be alone forever-- this everything was just waiting for you.
It's not a big deal, even though it is really a big deal. It's just that we finally found home. And we both know that.
And we fuck and nap and laugh and make love and kiss and do all the things until we fall asleep in this tiny house we created in our hearts.
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