I hide her in my work schedules and friend dates. She exists in my contacts as “Dumber” with an eyerolling emoji. When I bring her up, she is always with her boyfriend Martin, strategically named after a gay best friend.
She exists in the shadows of hotel rooms after night audit and street lamps outside of my always bustling sidewalk. Bitemarks on my left hand remind me of her, the matching bracelet bought in a San Franciscan pier tied to the same wrist to claim her, we. Her hand is a puzzle piece that fits perfectly into the crook of my own, my own molding her fingerprints into my skin.
At night, I cuddle the blanket a freezing room delivered to me with a Green Tea Frappuccino. The scent of her sweetness settles over me, softer than the blanket itself and I breathe it in. I let it fill me until I can’t escape the scent. I soak it in until I remember it, until I can smell it when I’m no longer beside her.
I keep her in my chest, where her head lays, absorbing her dreams and making my own. She reminds me that I am me; there are no labels for who I become when beside her. There are no stickers that read, “Hello, my name is Leila and I am in love with a woman.” There’s no need.
She rests at the back of my mind, always. The sound of a laugh that sways from sarcastic to genuine depending on the conversation we find ourselves in. It plays in every person I look at, in every attractive person that walks by. It hums and becomes its own song until other people become nothing more than names matched with faces that hold no significance because they don’t resemble her own.
She is a promise that I will love who I love and will be who I will be and live the life that will let me lie down one day and never regret the taste of her lips against mine on an elevator ride to Apple Bees.
The feel of her arms wrapped over my waist in the dead of night, whispering, “come here” when I find myself creeping towards the edge of the bed, brings me warmth. The feel of her chest rising and falling, the sound of her breathing turning into snoring that lulls me in and out of slumber. I crave it.
From the passenger seat of her car, the way her hand sneaks into mine before being playfully yanked into her bite. I play with her fingers, stroking one finger then the next, memorizing the lines in her palm and the way she relaxes under my touch. I smile. Rain pours, and she speeds down the road, the freeway, the neighborhood, and I never get scared. I don’t feel worried or anxious.
I’m safe. There. Beside her.
gummygunk
2087
snowghoul
tangentwithtanner
dededos
