I can’t seem to place exactly why I’m finding this so hard to write. I’ve literally been typing for hours only to furiously tap the delete key. It’s not like I have nothing to say, I have everything to say, so much. Just a couple of days ago, I had come to the conclusion that we were over. So many things were said, so much alcohol consumed. You were spot on, that night was “intense”. When I saw you the next day, I was almost certain it would be the last time we would see each other. But then you said, “I missed you so much”. “Only a day, less than a day,” I say. You explained why and how you missed me. I laughed it off. “Silly,” I retorted. In actuality, I marveled at how uncanny your sentiments were to mine about being apart for that meager 24 hours.  That revelation rattled my certainty just a tad. You then went on to say, “We’re going to be happy, I have decided, we’re going to be happy together.” “You sure?” “Yes.” Laughter. I don’t know why or how I was convinced you meant it. But right then, I was certain – certain that yes, we are meant to give it a proper try.

I want more – if that is even possible. I want more. I want more of you. I want more of us. I want more of your kisses – soft at first then growing persistently hungry. I want more of you making me lose my breath. I want more of you making me grasp at the bed sheets tightly. I want more time, longer minutes, tired hours, when I’m with you. I want more of your skin on mine. I want more of us lying in bed completely satiated, gasping for air steadying our breathing. I want more, despite the bruises. 

It took every fiber of my being to leave the bed, to leave the comfort of being snuggled up right next to you. It didn’t help that you kept saying, “I want you to stay” and refusing to let go. Oh, I wish you knew how much I wanted to stay with you, to fall asleep next to your ridiculously warm body as you stroke my hair and pepper my back with nibbles and soft kisses. I wanted to stay. I wanted more.