He left this in front of his laptop so when his video comes automatically on on Skype when call him, I’d see it . I tend to call just to see the bunny even when I know he’s at work.
I want to get drunk and fall completely helpless in his arms, he’ll just giggle and kiss my forehead and hold me throughout the night. I would wake up, between intervals of feeling hungover and sick to seeing him wrapped in white sheets, unconscious but hoping on opening his eyes at 4 in the morning and I’m still there. Walking on cold wooden floors, I walk through the hallways to his bathroom. Gulping water down my throat, I’d look at myself in the mirror and see my ill drunken face, I’d burst into a tired chuckle. Upon turning off the lights, I prepare to run silently back under the sheets to my fair, sleeping safety.
I would be the one taking the picture and just sitting there being forever alone. Fuck my life. :p
Softly, he touches me with his lips. He would stare at me every time before each kiss. I tell him I’m cold and he’ll grab an armful of blankets, probably 4 to 5 pieces and wrap me in it. I would look like a fat caterpillar. His skin, it’s warm most of the time, I would put my feet in between his legs and my face on his chest and he would do what he does, push me closer and hold me down until I’m not shivering anymore. I’m like a snowflake…and I’m slowly, uncontrollably melting on his skin.
He picked me up at 8:30 am, my hair was still slightly wet because I just took a shower. Leather jacket with studs all over it, he looked so adorable. Hugging him with that jacket on is very cold though but it’s alright. We drove around, the usual, talking about everything, anything. He got his car fixed, we waited, drank two little cups of french vanilla coffee and laughed at the television show we and everyone else was watching. He then decided to ask me about Twinkies, I never really had one and they gave such a short notice on not making any more of it. “You’re missing out,” I expected that, I’ve never watched half of the awesome movies he’d seen, never had the food he considers appetizing, never really did any of the crazy things he’s done.
We ate at Teppanyaki, he mentioned being there once with someone that’s not me, or maybe he was alone. The waitress wasn’t so polite, she gave him the wrong drink too. His nostrils flared up, eyes watered because of too much wasabi on his terrible sushi. I told him I wanted to die young when he asked me about when I saw myself dying. Weird question, not really romantic. He started to explain how living longer or even living forever is possible. People really do theorize about things and never really put to fact that it really is not impossible. He talks with so much confidence, it’s very intimidating, my face was empty, so were my words.
Fast forward; location, his house. Instructions on the pancake box said one egg, he put three, he said he liked protein. He fried the pancakes, I ate some of it, the taste of the eggs was very dominant, it wasn’t bad though. I like it when he cooks even when sometimes he doesn’t really know what he’s doing. Or when he brings the food to the couch and grabs a blanket at the same time, he would pile three blankets on top of me and tuck me in. It’s one of the most comforting things anyone has ever done for me, I melt a little.
Laying in bed, he started counting the days from Christmas to my birthday and to our anniversary. 1, 2, 3…15. “Oh no, we have to change the wedding date,” he said “we’re only allowed to have a 2 week vacation by the time we both have jobs.” I think he’s a little worried about what to give me on all three occasions, I honestly just want food and him shirtless in his bed. I like that thought, lazy dates and not really planning anything. With his unpredictable self, he would probably surprise me again, as always.
Now I’m back home, my mouth tastes like him. Good night.
Somehow, you’ve always felt so far. You’ve always been so still, like you’re purposely not letting others notice you. Like air, like stars, it’s nice to know you’re there. Alone playing music, writing nonsense, scribbling scribbles; anything really, it feels like I’m doing it just to do it. Although these things probably don’t interest or concern you, you motivate me to do what I do best. Nothing feels like something when I know I’m doing it for you, to make you happy or awed or just proud.
Knowing you’re there, even if you’re hundreds of miles away, it makes me feel better. Having you just a heart beat away is heaven though, I miss you.