Laying in bed behind you. Watching some documentary about suicide bombers on buses in Israel. Stupid. Wasteful. You're tearing up a little bit and trying to hide it because you always get embarrassed when you tear up from movies or television. Looking from the screen to your shoulder, right in front of me. Black cotton t-shirt, stretched over bone and muscle. Over you.
I would completely lose my mind if anything ever happened to that shoulder. I love that shoulder. I reach out slowly, touch the fabric as lightly as I can. Just to make sure you're still there, just to make sure you're still safe. You reach behind you, take my hand, pull it over you and into your chest so I'm hugging you tight. Fingers twine together, tighten for a moment.
I would completely lose my mind if anything ever happened to you.
And now the feeling is old. There's no questioning left to do. Have I waited long enough. Is the moment right. Is this what we need, what we want, what's good for us. There's none of those things here, not anymore, not for me. I love you in an old way. I would rip apart the fabric of this world to keep you safe. I would be your Atlas and promise never to shrug.
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