Not a dream in The First Life

There were things I forgot…

Like how the tips of his ears are always pink.
How his hands moved.
They way his hair felt.

I didn’t forget the shape of his head.
Smile to one side, and that line at the end.
I did not forget the color or shape of his eyes.
Or the feeling of his lips.
How they move slow.
It’s almost like it never left.

I started thinking about the birthmark on his leg.
The breadth of his collarbone.
His hands…pale, neat.
Veins, like string, running from his fingers up his arm.

His heartbeat still sounds like home.
His skin somehow smelled the same.
A part of me is terrified of that..
Sad about it.
Worried.

It’s scary how easy it seemed.
How I reached for his hand like it was mine.
Like it never left.
Like it hasn’t been a million other places since.
My heart sits on the edge of my chest, pushing out, trying to get closer.
Closer
Closer.
Like it could live within him.

It was almost hard to breathe.
Every deep breath pushed me near for a moment, then pulled me away.
I clenched my teeth to withhold the sigh of comfort when he held the back of my head.

It doesn’t seem real.
But then again, it seems like it’s been this way forever.
Like maybe our brains shut us out, but our bodies and souls just waited.

There is this....feeling of rest.
And if that’s the end of it, I think that’s ok.
I don’t know that I’ll ever let go of it.
Or ever be able to build a new home in someone else’s soul.
But I feel at ease, and at peace, he can do whatever he needs to. Wherever he needs to. I think that’s what love is.