Playing House

I'm house sitting for a friend this week so for a mere four or five days I have a place to wake up to and cook in, live in, and belong to that feels a little bit like my own. Last night Shay came to stay with me in the little home and we were normal. We did normal people things. I made dinner and he played with the dog. We fidgeted with the television to get it to work and snuggled up to watch a movie on Netflix. We went for a late night stroll and went to bed early.

The night time was the nicest. Sleeping in a bed not alone, but together. I don't usually do this kind of stuff. Allow another person so close. Sleep is gentle and I woke up every few hours to make sure he was still there. He snores. Softly but enough to know he's comfortable, confident in his side of the bed, asleep with me. Around four I found his hand and I realised this man means a lot more to me than I really thought he ever could. It wouldn't feel right not feeling his calloused fingertips playing with mine. For the longest time I wasn't sure we'd fit. Too awkward, too easy, too overanalysed to make sense. He fits. Every time I'm not with him it feels like something is missing. We adventure and go places, see beautiful sights, but even those gentle moments at four in the morning, count. They matter just as much. He makes me laugh. I love that he makes me laugh. We can be intimate and entwined and lost but still laugh, chuckle, giggle for hours.

Last night I knew I was falling and I really hope he's fallen too.

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