i should tell you

my eyes can barely stay open. i can see the stars when i close them, and when i open them just a sliver i can kind of see the outline of your face in the dark. familiar nose, lips.

i'm on the brink of time, where i'm neither awake nor asleep, where all things are meaningless and dark and warm. my head fits perfectly against your chest.

it's barely words, but you whisper if i'm awake. it's barely words, but i murmur and lift my head. you slide out of bed, say you'll be on the porch. i wanna know if everything's ok. i wanna hold you. you say it is. you put on a flannel in the other room.

you come back and kiss me before you go.

i wonder if you're looking at the stars, i wonder how many you can see. i wonder what you're thinking of out there, alone. you'd been in a car accident that morning, nothing serious. thank god. maybe you're more shaken than you want to admit. maybe it's something else. a scratch on the driver's door, but still. terrified me.

i roll over and give you space for when you come back. i'm afraid that you're out there without me, i don't like that you're away. it makes me wonder when i started to care so much. it makes me think about how miserable it would be if something had happened. if you hadn't come back. i can't stomach it.

i wonder if you're thinking parallel thoughts, but i don't move an inch.

i fall into sleep, but i think i'd really fallen quite some time ago.

it's a relief, then, to wake up with you beside me. i can't tell what time it is, but it doesn't matter today. all i care about is draping an arm over you, nuzzling gently into your back. reveling in your warmth and presence.

it's never been this strong before, the collection of stars spinning in my chest. i don't know what to do with it.

i can only hold you tighter. and hope.