We are that awkward couple that you just want to strangle. He seems flawless. I am Midas. My perfect touch seems to bring nothing but ruin. At least that’s how I see it. I get the undeserving luxury of falling asleep with still shots of our relationship dangling like a mental mobile. It calms me and excites me. I get scared and bold. This relationship seems like the perfection I have been seeking. I keep saying “seems”, because I am petrified to get my hopes up. Trembling in fear, I sound like a superstitious paranoid shut-in in my own mind. It shouts my insecurities at the top of its lungs. It proclaims my flaws as reasons I don’t deserve this happiness. It curses my coy behavior and reserved responses. I ignore everything. I allow my logic and thought process to go blank. Let the wind blow this ship as it will; I cannot control the wind, nor does it solely affect me. It does terrify me not to be in complete control, but still it is a relief to feel so free.
I woke up this morning to my legs feeling as if they were in scorching heat. In my fleece footie pajamas, I had found myself to be almost swaddled in the comforter. My legs were also intertwined with fleece bottoms my darling was wearing. Heat radiated from the two of us like kindling. The sun streaming in bathed only half of the room in light and in the dimmer portion, he looks over at me with a sleepy grin that conveys how much he appreciates me being there. Good morning’s are exchanged before I stumble almost drunkenly off to the bathroom. I return to him in a much more awake state and am not so secretly pleased to see his grin had widened. I love his smile, it warms me to the depths of my soul. It confirms all that is right and beautiful with the world. We snuggle and re-intertwine ourselves with the sheets and each other. We kiss. His warm lips are both tender and passionate and it builds with each connection.