I'm sitting in my room, cross-legged and awkward on my scruffy green carpet, your arms around my waist and your chin on my shoulder. I can feel your cool breath from your nose blow my hair in a soft breeze. You're gentle, silent, almost never moving except for the moments you take to kiss my cheek, hair, shoulder, hands, eyes, lips, everywhere.
It smells of garlic and salty onion soup. The aroma wafts into my room, and I smile to myself, thinking of Christmas. Is it Christmas? Are you my gift? I can hardly breathe, your hands shift; one still on my waist, the other stroking my hair. My heart stops, seconds lazily drift by, they are feathers in the wind. Something funny on TV, your laugh peals out and it is rough and scratchy but light and full of emotion. I missed what it was, you kiss my forehead, rub your cheeks against mine, and I feel the carbonation in my heart start to fizz up again.
You get up, turn around to face me, and I look into your chestnut-brown eyes. I see you, I see your thoughts. The kiss comes, expectedly, and you lay your head down on my thigh; I twist my fingers through your short black hair and stroke your back. I see your smile, it grows across your face, stretching like a slice of eaten watermelon, seeds spit out, all the red delightfully eaten away. Your hands squeeze, and I laugh to myself- The simple things, the simple pleasures and messages that you send, I see them now. How did I miss? How could I?
You didn't want to leave. I didn't want you to either.
"It could be a dream," I said. "You could be fake. It's happened before"
"No, it's just me" you spoke
"But that's exactly what I'm hardly believing".
I still can't believe it.