I like it better when you’re here - skin against skin, chest to chest. I like my legs tangled with your legs and my fingers tangled with your hair even though you don’t like me playing with your bangs. I love listening to your heartbeat quicken as time slows down in perfect rhythmic harmony to the sound of your breathing. I love tracing your skin and clinging between the valleys of your fingers. I’d rather just live in those moments where my nose touches your nose and I know you’d never kiss and I’d try not to because it feels like the moment would collapse. But I swear it’s like your lips (I love them like a bad habit) slowly suck the sadness out from my soul - but the taste of respite leaves with you in the morning. And then the world is grey again and I’m here alone sinking under these city lights and everything is bitter except the coffee. I suppose the optimistic part is that, even though we go weeks or months apart and we become different people with other people, something still fits. Or perhaps I’m just too good at framing moments and hanging them in my mind like art that no one else feels. I’ll try not to make a habit out of being so selfish, but the world just feels a little more right with your arms around me, the city a little less lonely with you beside me, & my bed a little warmer with you in it.