There’ll come a night when your bodies will entwine in the darkness, summer rain hammering on the windows in that uncompromising way it does sometimes, and you’ll peel your cheek from their clammy chest and you’ll whisper, quietly, shyly, perhaps, something about ‘home’. How the definition of that word is no longer bricks and mortar, or the kitchen in which you’d lick bowl after bowl of sugary cake mix as a child, but skin.
Bones. Cells. A smile. That smile.
Home. An anchor in the storm. A reference point. An always, for always.
That’s what it feels like, when you get it right, when you give yourself to the person who deserves you. And I think, perhaps,
that it could be the most spectacular
and most terrifying thing
that any human could feel.