“I like the way you fit,” I say, fiddling with the cords of the blanket thrown over my lap. “Into my life.”
“Well, good,” you laugh, running your hands across your face in an attempt to wake up from the half-nightmare your life resembles. I’m always here. I’ve taken to sitting on the couch cross-stitching the days away, if you can believe it. And sometimes I think you’re not here with me, but I won’t go where you go. I consider stoking the fire to shake the idea from my mind, but then reconsider. And I wonder – as always, how the heat seems to emanate right from you, as well as the light.
It’s almost spring outside the sitting room window, and we’ve taken to standing right in front of it, ready to wave at any nosy passerby and giggle as we gossip about their gossiping. Everything in and around us has found its perfect place once again, and the sitting room is quiet beyond the crackling of the fire and the companionable silence.
“I like the way you fit, too,” you say, smiling into my hair as you wrap me up into a bear hug and then throw us both down onto the couch. And we just lie there, comfortable. After what seems like an afternoon, as the light fades outside the sitting room window and brightens in the space between us, I poke you until you get up to add another log to the fire.
I watch you watching it dance, and know that while most people in this moment would say, “What are you thinking?”, I don’t have to. I wish you could see more of yourself in it, as I do. I don’t want you to leave this moment, this place, or this feeling.
“Let’s burn the curtains!” I say. You turn your gaze to me, eyes reflected with fire, and you laugh.