I’m sorry I text you so much.
Every time my phone goes off, before my eyes even dart to the screen, I’m already hoping it’s your name with the little white heart I put next to it.
Even through a phone screen, I can feel your energy. I don’t know how you can be both so fiery and yet so grounded, but I love it. The heat in you when you put yourself between me and anyone who means me harm. The steadiness in you when my mind starts spinning and I can’t find solid ground inside myself. You make me feel completely safe to open myself to you…
So I text a lot.
Because when we go back and forth, I get to feel your presence again. The warmth. The steadiness. That perfectly strange contradiction in you that somehow fits so specifically with me.
And when you go quiet for the night, I assume sleep has finally claimed you.
So then I lay there in my own bed, awake, missing someone I still haven’t had the privilege of falling asleep beside. I imagine what it will feel like to have your chin resting on my head while I bury my face in your neck. I think about memorizing the way you smell mixed with your cologne. I think about the shape of your silhouette in the darkness, and how I’ll never want to forget it once I finally know it.
I think about how unfair it is to miss your body before I’ve even had it near mine.
Eventually, the wanting quiets, the anxiety loosens, and sleep finally claims me too…
🤍TR