The sixth sense

And there's the sound of breathing. There's the sound of your laugh, short and breathless and sleepy. There's your eyes, crinkled at the corners, leaning in making a face at me. Lean in too, kiss that face. Kiss a cheek and a forehead. Rest a hand behind your head, cup the short black hair. Smooth it down. And there's the sound of silence, and a weight on my chest, and the vague thrumming of your heart beating through your chest, through your jacket, against me. Run a hand up your leg, penguin pajama bottoms. Up your side, softest skin I've ever touched. Pull you closer and hold on to you and hope you let me hold you at least for a moment. Breathe. And there's the smell of your jacket, and your skin and your hair and they're all different and I know them all so well. Breathe. And there's the sudden way my heart strains against my ribcage. Close my eyes. Press my face into your jacket. Breathe. Sharp, in my chest, almost like pain. Like joy. Like belonging somewhere, hoping to be allowed to feel that way, burning. And there's you.

And I never stopped

I still love you