Morgan's Space

no music. no reason. just two people in a kitchen on a tuesday evening who looked at each other and decided that was enough of a reason. joy doesn't need an occasion. it just needs the right person to be ridiculous with.

not performing. not hoping. just looking at yourself and knowing. that's her. that's actually her. and she's been here the whole time waiting for you to catch up.

the kind of love that makes you close your eyes. not because it's overwhelming. just because you want to be completely inside the moment. nowhere else. just here. just this.

she reads over my shoulder and I slow down on the good parts so she doesn't miss them. she hasn't noticed yet. I have been doing this for months.

nobody saw it. it wasn't for anyone else. just two people and a ring and a question that had already been answered a long time ago and was only now being said out loud. the quiet ones are the ones that last.

the moment before is its own whole thing. before the words. before the decision. when you're both standing in the same room knowing and neither of you has said it yet and the air is doing something strange. I think about that moment a lot. how much it holds.

Not really a question, but definitely a strong opinion.

you touch it without noticing you're touching it. that's how you know. when something becomes a reflex. when someone becomes a reflex.

there's a specific look people have when they're watching someone they love who doesn't know they're being watched. completely unguarded. no performance. just. the feeling, on the face, with nowhere to hide.

the gap between two hands on a bench is either nothing or everything and both people know which one it is and neither of them moves and that is the most suspenseful three inches in the entire world.

someone made you coffee before you woke up. didn't wake you. didn't make it a thing. just. left it there at the right temperature at the right time on the right side of the table. that's not nothing. that's someone who has been paying attention for a long time.

she moved it to her left hand sometime in november and didn't say anything about it and I didn't ask and we both knew exactly what it meant and neither of us was ready to say it out loud yet and that was okay. that was more than okay actually.

the intimacy of someone else's reading habits. which page they stopped on. which words they underlined. the book they left on your pillow because they thought you needed it and they were right. they were always right about that.

the most romantic thing in the world is something worn smooth by someone else's hand. not new. not pristine. used. kept. returned to. that's the whole story in an object.

you know you're home somewhere when your things start ending up there without you planning it. a toothbrush. a cardigan. two necklaces on the same hook. you didn't decide. it just. happened. and you didn't move them.

some gifts are just objects. and then some gifts are someone saying I saw this and thought of you specifically, not anyone else, you and you have to just. hold that. wear it close. touch it without realizing you're touching it.