v u l v a l i c i o u s
oh fresh hell
A feeling so familiar, so inherent to my lived experiences that it feels warm, home-like: unrequited love. The way it wraps itself around my throat, sweet suffocation.
My head is resting on your thigh. You don't move away, but you don't move closer, either. I know it's ok. I have stepped in closer to you over the past year and watched you not flinch from me. For once I've been honest, too.
I told you how I felt. What I wanted. You felt flattered, happy, not upset with it. When I told you that I had feelings for you, your response was "thank you!" Not no or yes. Not even maybe.
I'm falling asleep next to you. The room is quiet. The sound of our breathing is too heavy for me, and I have to drown it out. Separated by several layers of clothes, we spoon. I keep my hands in front of my chest, not wanting to press against you completely, but I fit against you anyway. In the morning I move in closer. You wake for a moment and fall back to sleep, then I do too.
The dog comes into the room, a bouncing mass of happiness. She licks you and then lies between us, and we both reach out to pet her, our hands touching. Your fingers are nothing like mine. They are long and slender and delicate. I want to hold your hand, but don't.
Instead I reach out and play with your hair, and you don't seem to mind. I scratch your back and decide to press against you, and you make a small sound of contentment. I feel like I am imagining it. We are between waking and sleeping.
I finally get up because it needs to happen. You need to leave, but I'm the one getting us out of bed. You're still lying there, being slow about stepping out of the covers, and I pounce on the bed next to you, smushing my head into you until you're laughing.
What I am trying to tell you is that I love you, I love this, I love the way it feels to be next to you right now. I don't want to be with you, but I want something. I want to know that you want this. I want yes, not thank you.
But barring that I'd take this again. Again and again.