How I Imagine Life Together

I bustle into the room without any precision.

My shoulder bag has turned up one side of my jacket's collar and my hands, numb from cold, struggle to find enough purchase on the slippery umbrella to clasp it shut. I attempt to smooth over my windswept hair, but manage to only smear rainwater across my forehead. I open the closet and push aside all of my hanging clothes, of which there aren't many, and hook the umbrella's handle over the bar, leaving it to drip-dry while hanging over empty boxes of Dr Pepper.

It is only as I turn, wiping my wet hands on my jeans and cursing the gale occurring outside of the windows, that I notice you napping on the bed. You're asleep on your side with your back turned towards me.

Trying my hand at silence now, I ease the closet door back closed and slip off my shoes, lest they squeak on the floor as I cross the room. I place them on the mound of other sneakers under my desk and carefully lift my bag over my head, turning to hang it from the nearest bedpost. The jacket is next, and I wince as material sliding over material seems to make such a noise, but it doesn't wake you of course. It goes over the bag on the bedpost.

I pad my stockinged feet over to the side of the bed and watch you sleep for a minute. This is the you that I love. Gentle, carefree, and beautiful. You seem so undaunted by the stresses I know you to carry, so unburdened by the scars I know you to have. Your face is turned away from me, but my mind has mapped it so well that I know your expression, not blank in your slumber, but content and peaceful.

I move to crawl behind you, but as soon as I place one leg onto the bed, I remember my glasses. These glasses, these windowpanes in front of my eyes, have taken so much abuse. They've been sat on, stepped on, and my sister's dog has run away with them clamped in his puppy teeth at least one time. Yet the metal frames always bend themselves back into place, usually after the employment of a set of pliers. But we don't have any pliers. With a whispered curse, I pull myself back out of bed and with one hand slide my glasses off of my face.

Just as I'm placing my glasses onto my desk, I hear you move and I feel certain that I've woken you, but the movement stops. I look back over my shoulder and you've only shifted your arms around.

I try getting into bed again, carefully, one body part at a time. I crawl up beside you, curving my body into your's from behind. I hike myself up on one elbow in order to lean over you, brush a bit of your hair aside, and kiss your cheek gently. At this, you finally stir the slightest bit.

"Mmm.." you murmur, not yet entirely awake.

I smile softly, laying back down, casting an arm around you, nuzzling my face against the back of your neck. Your hand finds mine and holds on.

For a few blissful minutes, we lay like this, caught up in each other.

As I feel myself beginning to drift into sleep myself, an alarm goes off.

"F***!" Your hand bolts to your phone and you press buttons, silencing the thing. With a sigh, you roll over to face me. "I have to go to class..." you say.

I smile. "Yeah, college students tend to have to do that."

You roll your eyes and at once I swoop in and capture your lips in a kiss. I feel you smile and pull back to see it. "Mm." you whisper, and then after a pause, "I love you."

Another kiss. And as I pull away again I say, "I love you too.

Now go to class."





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