Two

I crave you. Please understand, it’s in the most innocent of ways. I crave to hear your thought when your eyebrows rise and begin the cranking of wheels in your brain. I crave to see your face light up, casting out joy like an old projector that you shine on the wall as it whirrs and clickety clicks. I crave to touch, to intertwine fingers with yours, lace them tighter than roller skates, and hold on tight don’t you let go -- not for a long time. I crave to say goodbye and goodnight, to lie next to you, on top, beside, under, parallel, diagonal, caddy-corner. Doesn’t matter.

I just crave to be. To be with you.

It’s lovely long nights of lingering, mornings of mellow meandering. It’s so simple really.

But it’s not because it’s tough. Because love is not love like in the movies. Because movies are magical and they fall in love and kiss and the director says “cut” and they end and go home and forget that just three hours ago they were playing characters who were in love.

Well the movie keeps on in life and you find that love is more than you ever thought. It’s better and harder and shinier and funnier and softer and more dangerous.

But you’re worth it because I crave you.

You take me. I take you.

It’s two mugs of tea on the counter. Two arms wrapped around my waist, two hands folded contentedly. Two imperfect people. Two people who are ok being imperfect together.