Mouths, teeth, earlobes, fingertips, stomachs, eyelashes, lips, and flushed cheeks; these are the parts of you I know best. I don’t know your favorite color, the last time you cried, your favorite song, the food you eat when you’re sad, or what you want to do with the rest of your life. Those things were never important in regards to you and me. Despite my lack of knowledge of the facts about your life, I knew in depth things that others did not see. I know how your body moves when it’s under me, I know how it moves on top of me, I know how it moves next to me, I know the way you walk when you need to avoid me, the way you shift your weight from left foot to right foot and then back again when you’re uncomfortable, I know that when you’re happy, you walk more on your toes than your heels.

Worn corduroy pants, sweatshirts, flannel button ups, and tight leggings seem to constantly be in our way. There’s never enough time, always a more important place to be, something more pressing than what we were trying to accomplish. We leave each other time and time again with an unspoken promise that next time; we can take things more slowly. We look to others at times to see if we can recreate what we’ve fostered between us. I’m not sure about you, but I can’t find anyone else whose body fits like a puzzle piece into mine. Some days I feel like maybe we’re just jigsaw pieces broken apart just for the fun of putting ourselves back together.

We move in rhythm, that can’t be denied. Your ebb is my flow and our tides seem to always find each other’s shore. Through 3 years we have departed more times than fingertips can count, but regardless, we always seem to resume our frantic exploration of bodily imperfections. I’m not sure what we seem to constantly be searching for, or even what we would do if we found it. I only know that I learned more in the quiet of your bedroom than words could’ve ever told me.