xx.

With only the light of the moon seeping through the curtain, the off-white one we couldn't figure out how to raise, I pressed my cheek against his and whispered, "I love you." My flight was in a few hours and we had spent all night groaning about how much we loathe to pack. It was some ungodly hour of the night, and we were a bit tired, but we stayed in bed laughing about my apparent need to keep half of the bed to myself.

I wanted to stay there forever. At least another day, anyway.

I couldn't see his face when I said it. I shut my eyes real tight and exhaled with all the courage I had built up. Half of me figured he didn't believe me, as if he assumed he was completely unloveable or, as if it was impossible to love him at all. I think he might actually feel that way.

I tried to remember when exactly the moment was I stopped myself from pushing him away. Somehow, I began to embrace moments that seemed to only happen, not only infrequently, but only spent on special people. I began to understand more and I opened up to the possibility of this being something real. I remember feeling safe and comfortable. I remember telling him secrets I've never told anyone before. And that scares the hell out of me.

Sometimes, whenever I'm feeling too terrible to think, I imagine being with him again. Laying next to him as he rubs his fingertips against my hair while my head rests on his stomach. I miss that place whenever I feel lonely or misunderstood. I just want to be in that place that makes me feel so at peace.

I didn't expect him to feel exactly the same. I almost thought he'd run away after I said it. But he didn't. He stayed and listened; like he always does.