It's raining when I get the text. And I go back to the last one you sent me. Read it, read it over, re-read it. Read my reply, read it over and go back to the text that just came in.
It starts storming while I'm with you. Its thunder breaking and darts of lightning right outside your window and I love, God I love how it doesn't disturb your sleep. How you look a little bit more peaceful.
As peaceful as one could look I suppose, like this.
You peek out at me through sleepy eyes, make it all sound light. And I could believe you, the way I always do. Except it breaks me, seeing you like this- even the slightest bit uncomfortable.
Crying won't do very much good, I know that full well, but I never fancied myself a fantastic actor anyways.
I don't even know if the enormity of it has even... It's always easier to crack a joke, make light of it, isn't it?
And all I wanted to do tonight was stay right by you- to be the first thing your fingers touched if you happen to reach out. To keep swapping towels and wiping your face down, to stay with you until your fever breaks. To be the first one to jump up if you so much as twitched a finger in discomfort.
But I'm here.
I'm home, with my hair smelling like yours, surrounded by bits and pieces of ourselves that we'd left here just yesterday afternoon.
It's not raining tonight. The roads are slick and empty.
The morning, it always promises to come.
And I'll be with you soon.
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