first and last

i like being in love and i miss it. for surely, there is no greater feeling than being in love. im not sure how you feel it, how you wear it, hold it, use it. and im not talking about falling in love, im not talking about that uncertainty, that reckless abandon at which two people who are falling in love disregard all rational and think only from their bodies, their quiet collections, primal, heady, disillusioned. im not talking about falling in love, falling in love is unsure. im talking about being in love, that, that is safe.

it is selfless, it is brave, it isnt scary, youre never afraid its going to go away. its sunday evenings, walking in the neighborhood with him and the dog, summer, the air has cooled, it smells of charcol and the day has settled on the back of his neck, the sweetest smell, a place you could make a home in. its been hours since your last shower and you wear the afternoon in your hair, behind your knees, on the high lifts of your cheekbones. as you walk you are so happy, breathing in that summer, that smell. he looks tired, but young, better than the first weeks you knew him, because you know him now, you know his smiles, his voice, the way his body tenses up when run your tongue over his ear, kiss the day off his neck. there is safety in that silence, in that night, that the next day will be similar, but better, one more day of that kind of love. people wait their whole lives for it, and i miss it.

without it, nothing is the same. its just a long, cold winter.