It’s cold. So very cold.
I curl up next to you and say it’s to preserve body heat. But it’s not just that. I like the feel of you in my arms. You’re usually so loud and sharp but at night you’re not. You’re small. Fragile. Like someone else, some I could hold.
You don’t move much. Not because you’re quiet and calm, not because you’re relaxed. But because you’re guarded. You’re still alert and you’re still careful. You don’t want to get too close. Don’t want to get used to this.
But I want to get used to this. I close my eyes and imagine a day when we could curl up together like this. But better. A day without any excuses. Any barriers. Just two bodies. Two willing bodies, wanting to be entwined. I’d hold you and you’d hold my hand. Press it to your chest. Your lips. Your breath would warm my skin. Your affection would warm the room.
Something’s changed. You’ve relaxed. You’re asleep maybe. I lift my head to see over your shoulder and sure enough your mouth hangs open slightly. You’re asleep and there’s nothing to keep your tense scowl in place. You’ve succumbed to the bliss of sleep in my arms.
I did that. I put you at ease somehow.
I nestle in closer. I bury myself in the crook of your neck. Your hair bristles my cheek, my nose, but I can’t help it. I want to feel close to you. Even if it’s brief. Even if I don’t wake up. Even if we freeze to death. This is how I want to fade away.