Safe

I can't stop. The ceiling fan above me turns, slow but constant. The movement is mimiced by all the thoughts living inside my mind. Circling. One after another. Thoughts of you and I. Thoughts of better times. Thoughts of late night food runs, laughter, and stolen glances from the corners of downturned eyes. It keeps me from sleeping. From the left, I can hear a low, dull drone. It's steady, and I'm taken back to the place we used to sleep, my head on your chest. My arms around your waist. Your arms squeezing my back. I'd stay up and listen to your pulse, sync my breath to yours, until I felt enough at ease to drift away from the here and now.
Half of me prays that it will all stop. That every bit of you would fade away from my memory. But, the other half of me is okay just knowing that I still have this to hold on to. That when my body longs to feel your warmth beside me, I still have these memories. When I wish for that tiny bit of air to escape from the corners of your sleeping smile and make its new home against the backside of my ear, I still have these memories. When all I want is to be reminded of how perfectly our forms fit together, to feel your callused fingers interlaced in mine, to know the softness again of your lips on my cheek, I still have these memories.
It may seem like grasping at straws now, but maybe someday it'll feel like home again. And maybe someday, I'll feel safe again. Safe enough to sleep. Safe enough to dream. Safe enough to say the words.


"I love you, and I mean it."