HOME | DD

Description
here we are again, and we're dancing the same dance and saying the same script as before. it's become our ritual, something sacred and needed, and i honestly can't imagine what we'd do without it. you're standing in the doorway, palms flat and shoulders slumped, eyes dull with regret and love. i'm sitting on the counter, fingers twisting aimlessly around each other, and the echoes of our argument still hang in the air. in five minutes, after you've shuffled your feet and i've sniffled twice, when there's been exactly two minutes of awkward silence, you'll either stride over and kiss me, or you'll turn around and walk away.

if you walk away, i know that in three hours' time, i can walk down the two flights of stairs to our kitchen and find you slumped over the fine rosewood bar we put in last summer, and our best friends tapping their fingers, waiting for me to come and collect you. they'll tell me about how we shouldn't fight so much, and that we both just need to try harder, and how you've been sitting there, swilling cider and jameson until your eyes crossed, until you fell asleep, sighing my name.

i'll get you up the first flight, pretending not to notice your bruised knuckles from where you punched the tree that has our initials carved in it, or the way you cling to my hand and I have to steer us awkwardly, and i don't even jump when your nose presses against my neck. it'll be a fight to get you up the second, because you're a foot taller than me, but finally, we'll make it down the hall and into our bedroom, which still has the shattered picture frame i threw at you this afternoon. i don't even have to pull the covers back, which is good, because they're messy and you're getting restless and heavy, and the sound you make as you fall more than sit on the bed is almost worth a smile.

you'll reach up for me with glazed, sleepy eyes, and whisper that you need me, and you're sorry. you'll beg me to stay, and i know in my heart that i will, even though part of me secretly wonders what it'd be like to go. so i'll stretch out beside you and try not to feel guilty when you nuzzle your head against my chest to hear my heartbeat. i'll try not to cry as your fingers curl around mine and every muscle in your body relaxes, dropping you into deep, calm sleep.

i'll spend a sleepless night, trailing my fingers over familiar markers, things that have such strong memory attached-- the scar on your chin from a football pass-gone-bad, the bump in your nose from the first time i punched you, the secret little dip in your collarbone that i love to kiss. i'll run my fingers over your knuckles, over the scars and bruises, over the stories that your hands tell, and the warm ring on your left hand. it's inevitable, that when i get to that ring, my vision blurs and i have to try not to wake you as i cry, because i love you, with all my heart, and sometimes our life just seems hard and unfair.

morning will bring an awkward clarity, because i'll finally drift off and when i wake up, you'll be looking at me like i'm going to break your heart.

if you kiss me after those two minutes, though, it's hard and desperate and rough. your hands will tangle in my hair and you'll taste just a bit sweeter than normal, a bit more intoxicating. when you start to pull, i'll make a little sound in the back of my throat and instantly, you'll gentle. your lips will coax and persuade, and your hands will move from my hair to cup my face, to stroke my neck. we'll stumble and slide and nip our way to the bedroom, which will still have the shattered picture frame, and the tangled covers.

you'll push me against the wall, until you're the only thing holding me off the ground, and i'll forget what we were fighting about. i'll forget the things we said to one another, and why i was mad at you. your hands will stroke and seek and find, while you whisper that you love me and need me, that i can't leave you. and i'll agree, because i know in my heart, i don't really want to go at all, i just want you to notice me, to remember me. i want to feel safe and loved, and important, and needed like this.

our eyes will say everything our voices can't, and the way you murmur gaelic against my throat will tell me that you do notice me, that you don't forget things on purpose. the ancient words of love will remind me that i am important, just insecure, and that you're comfortable enough, in-love enough, to speak with your heart first.

the feel of your skin will anchor me here and now, to what we are, rather than what i sometimes think we should be. your kiss will tell me everything you think when you're at your damnable job, and the possessive marks from your teeth and hands will remind me that we really are okay, that things are just hard because we're in the middle of the story, and we're still working towards the happy ever after.

and when i watch you later, when you're asleep and your lips smile, when your arms are clamped around me so tight i can barely move but it's oddly okay, the somehow-holy light of five am will drift across your face and i'll remember why i fell in love with you in the first place. the cool, sapphire light will remind me that middles are always messy and chaotic, that that's when things seem hardest because faith has already been stretched so thin and there's hope only if you look for it. and i'll know that i'm already looking at hope, that it wears your face and my ring and that we'll get through, like we always do. and then you'll drape over me and shut the drapes so that for a few hours more, there is nothing else: no job, no problem, no world. just us, and those two minutes that decide everything and nothing at all.

Description
here we are again, and we're dancing the same dance and saying the same script as before. it's become our ritual, something sacred and needed, and i honestly can't imagine what we'd do without it. you're standing in the doorway, palms flat and shoulders slumped, eyes dull with regret and love. i'm sitting on the counter, fingers twisting aimlessly around each other, and the echoes of our argument still hang in the air. in five minutes, after you've shuffled your feet and i've sniffled twice, when there's been exactly two minutes of awkward silence, you'll either stride over and kiss me, or you'll turn around and walk away.

if you walk away, i know that in three hours' time, i can walk down the two flights of stairs to our kitchen and find you slumped over the fine rosewood bar we put in last summer, and our best friends tapping their fingers, waiting for me to come and collect you. they'll tell me about how we shouldn't fight so much, and that we both just need to try harder, and how you've been sitting there, swilling cider and jameson until your eyes crossed, until you fell asleep, sighing my name.

i'll get you up the first flight, pretending not to notice your bruised knuckles from where you punched the tree that has our initials carved in it, or the way you cling to my hand and I have to steer us awkwardly, and i don't even jump when your nose presses against my neck. it'll be a fight to get you up the second, because you're a foot taller than me, but finally, we'll make it down the hall and into our bedroom, which still has the shattered picture frame i threw at you this afternoon. i don't even have to pull the covers back, which is good, because they're messy and you're getting restless and heavy, and the sound you make as you fall more than sit on the bed is almost worth a smile.

you'll reach up for me with glazed, sleepy eyes, and whisper that you need me, and you're sorry. you'll beg me to stay, and i know in my heart that i will, even though part of me secretly wonders what it'd be like to go. so i'll stretch out beside you and try not to feel guilty when you nuzzle your head against my chest to hear my heartbeat. i'll try not to cry as your fingers curl around mine and every muscle in your body relaxes, dropping you into deep, calm sleep.

i'll spend a sleepless night, trailing my fingers over familiar markers, things that have such strong memory attached-- the scar on your chin from a football pass-gone-bad, the bump in your nose from the first time i punched you, the secret little dip in your collarbone that i love to kiss. i'll run my fingers over your knuckles, over the scars and bruises, over the stories that your hands tell, and the warm ring on your left hand. it's inevitable, that when i get to that ring, my vision blurs and i have to try not to wake you as i cry, because i love you, with all my heart, and sometimes our life just seems hard and unfair.

morning will bring an awkward clarity, because i'll finally drift off and when i wake up, you'll be looking at me like i'm going to break your heart.

if you kiss me after those two minutes, though, it's hard and desperate and rough. your hands will tangle in my hair and you'll taste just a bit sweeter than normal, a bit more intoxicating. when you start to pull, i'll make a little sound in the back of my throat and instantly, you'll gentle. your lips will coax and persuade, and your hands will move from my hair to cup my face, to stroke my neck. we'll stumble and slide and nip our way to the bedroom, which will still have the shattered picture frame, and the tangled covers.

you'll push me against the wall, until you're the only thing holding me off the ground, and i'll forget what we were fighting about. i'll forget the things we said to one another, and why i was mad at you. your hands will stroke and seek and find, while you whisper that you love me and need me, that i can't leave you. and i'll agree, because i know in my heart, i don't really want to go at all, i just want you to notice me, to remember me. i want to feel safe and loved, and important, and needed like this.

our eyes will say everything our voices can't, and the way you murmur gaelic against my throat will tell me that you do notice me, that you don't forget things on purpose. the ancient words of love will remind me that i am important, just insecure, and that you're comfortable enough, in-love enough, to speak with your heart first.

the feel of your skin will anchor me here and now, to what we are, rather than what i sometimes think we should be. your kiss will tell me everything you think when you're at your damnable job, and the possessive marks from your teeth and hands will remind me that we really are okay, that things are just hard because we're in the middle of the story, and we're still working towards the happy ever after.

and when i watch you later, when you're asleep and your lips smile, when your arms are clamped around me so tight i can barely move but it's oddly okay, the somehow-holy light of five am will drift across your face and i'll remember why i fell in love with you in the first place. the cool, sapphire light will remind me that middles are always messy and chaotic, that that's when things seem hardest because faith has already been stretched so thin and there's hope only if you look for it. and i'll know that i'm already looking at hope, that it wears your face and my ring and that we'll get through, like we always do. and then you'll drape over me and shut the drapes so that for a few hours more, there is nothing else: no job, no problem, no world. just us, and those two minutes that decide everything and nothing at all.