The invention of beauty

I’m fine with being alone until I get into bed. I want to reach across the sheets and feel the girl I love next to me, to wake up with her in my arms or her arm draped over me. I want the late night talks about our childhoods where we have to cover our mouths so the rest of the world can’t hear us laughing and falling deeper in love. I want the bickering over who has more room and her telling me she wants to be big spoon for a change, and I’ll cave sometimes because she’ll know I can’t say no to her. I want to feel safe. I want to feel like I’m not alone anymore because nothing else matters besides the heartbeat of the girl I love laying next to me and the taste of her lips. I want to give her everything I possibly can to make her happy and to be there for when I fail and she needs someone to share the pain with. I want rough sex after a day of stares and wandering hands, I want sweet passionate sex when neither of us can sleep. I want to crawl into bed and find her reading her favorite book or watching her favorite movie and simply lay next to her or rest my head on her lap. I want all of it.

me: [listens to own playlist]

But I don’t want small talk. Text me, and without saying hello, tell me why you got so angry at your sister this morning. Tell me why you have a scar shaped like Europe on the left side of your neck. Send me paragraphs about the time you spent at your grandmother’s house that one summer. Call me when I’m half asleep and tell me why you believe in God. Tell me about the first time you saw your dad cry. Go on for hours about things that may not seem important because I promise that I’ll be hanging on to every word you say. Tell me everything. I don’t want someone who just talks about the weather.