It was a horribly long day that had fused with a horribly long evening. The night hours too were horrendous. The early morning sun rose and greeted us both. We moved our limbs slowly, as if we dared to move against some unseen force. I wanted to tell you how much I love you. I wanted to shout it, but I was terrified. My sentiments have never been as clear as I wanted them. To me it seemed like there was always something. A flaw in the moment I could tell you. Tell you that I could swim in a sea of love with you. Things like that, touching a part of you that my hands couldn’t. When we finally had half risen, you sat on the edge of the bed, a mess of blankets behind you. Me trying not to cringe at the cold floor on my bare feet. You looked at me. Do you remember the day we met? you ask me. I stop, air seems to choke in my chest. yes. I said. Your hands rested on your knees. Your rough and long fingers beckoned me. Teased me forward. I was moving without knowing it. Then your fingers were on the backs on my knees, my thighs. brushing the bottom of my night gown. I let my hands slowly slide around your neck. testing the texture of skin on skin. Slow so my fingerprints stamped your skin. I felt an unmeasurable amount of love rolling in waves across your body. What was the most vivid thing from our meeting? you said into my stomach. I wanted, I swallowed then continued, I wanted to touch you. It was like everything about you was just so, right, I wanted to make sure that it felt right skin to skin. I swallowed again. Your breath was intoxicating against the cloth to my skin. Everyday with you I learn. I learn each day what it feels like to be really alive. And if that doesn’t keep me moving, if that doesn’t keep me happy when the days are unbearable, then I don’t know what does. I can let go of everything the moment I touch you.