love me

He calls me Sleepy Girl and brushes my hair back behind my ear. I can feel him next to me. I can hear him next to me.“Sleepy Girl,” he calls, quietly, as if he doesn’t actually want to wake me. So I tell him to let me sleep. But in the morning, he calls my name again. “Sleepy Girl.” "Time to wake up.” "Wake up, Sleepy Girl.” But he’s rubbing my back and stroking my neck and leaning on me and I want to pretend I’m still asleep so he won’t stop, but he can see me smiling and I don’t try to pretend I’m not. I don’t try to conceal my affectionate adoration."If you put your back against the couch, you can be the big spoon.” I do and he lays down. I throw my arm over him and tuck my face into his back, and let my breath escape over his skin. Eventually, he lets our fingers tangle.Then he turns over, no objections, and I let him hold me, and I can feel him there, in front of me, and he’s so warm and I want to kiss him even though I know I shouldn’t. He’s so warm and I want to love him even though I know I shouldn’t. And I swear his heart is so big and so welcoming. And I swear his heart beats in the same rhythm. And I swear his heart likes to whisper my name. "Sleepy Girl,” it calls. Quietly. As if it doesn’t actually want me to hear. And part of me doesn’t either.

Today’s a day that I wake up to kiss someone again. Nothing personal, nothing critical, nothing set in stone. Just lips and hips and wandering, wanting hands. You asked if I wanted affection. You made damn sure of it. And you leaned in and you kissed the hell out of me and goddamn, I could’ve cried at the sounds I was making next to you. You listened to me. You didn’t prod or poke fun, just obliged and you asked how I was. We made waves in the air. We sighed out whimpers. We touched in ways that I should go back to church for. Me, an atheist, who is a true believer in your arms, would rather die than repent. All this, just to be kissed.

Sometimes I forget just how grateful I am to be without you. I forget that, this time last year, I couldn’t go anywhere without you - if I went anywhere at all. I forget that, this time last year, the only rules were set by you. I forget that, this time last year, I couldn’t even talk to our roommate, my best friend. And this year? I spent New Years Eve making out with a boy who respects me. This year, I got to date the girl you didn’t want me to even text, even when she lived in a different state, because she had a little crush on me. This year, I wore makeup to work and I flirted and I gave out my number and I wore my favorite pair of jeans without having someone ask me who I’m wearing them for. This year I got to have friends and I got to date as I chose to and I had freedom, and even though I’m all fucked up on mental illnesses and trauma, at least I’m not chained down by you. At least I get to live. At least I’m happy.

You won’t get much just out of looking at me. You’ll see my facial expressions, my body twitches, my reactions, my recoils, the way my body can sometimes speak for itself, but you’ll be damned about the reason why. I’m still the same open book I’ve been all my life, but nowadays I leave my pages blank. If you’re lucky, if you’re dedicated, if you’re oh-so- inclined - maybe, eventually, I’ll let you read about the author, and you’ll know why.

Fuck, I’m looking forward to taking you home with me.

I want you to drunk text me. I want you to think about me. Please fucking think about me sometimes because the only thing I do is think about you

Fuck, I’m looking forward to taking you home with me.

y’all, as a confession: I’m biased as hell towards James Buchanan Barnes like…..Bucky could have incinerated the entire earth and I’d still be like