Here I sit, physically still, mentally zooming. So much of this static is not something I can write about because …

… because.

There are parts that I can share, make public. Yet …

… I don’t.

Even though I do my best emotional impression of a roly-poly, somehow you coax a slight smile from my lips. Yes …

… you’ll do.

We laugh and we cry. Deep conversations are had where our scars are reopened and put on trial, then judged, and deemed “innocent”; the silly talks are too numerous to count. Why would we even want to keep track, when the days seem both never-ending, and too quick? The two of us, we live in the moment. And in the past. And, of course, the future. Time seems stuck.

My lips are no longer mine. (“Forfucksake – he is kissing me the way I have always thought it should be.”)

Your lips are no longer yours. (“Jeebus! *#(&$@*&E!”)

These lips? They are ours.

Hands grip, touch, push, pull, and caress. Soon, all thought is gone. There is only this, only now, only here, only there, only us.

Later, when dawn is felt but not yet seen, we sleepily wake. There is no uncomfort, only a sense of, “yes. YES!”

I can’t wait …

… to find out that you are real.