When he's there (you know, one to two feet away at most), I am pleased to note that at no point do I fool myself that I'm in love. Nor immediately afterwards.
I mean, it's not that there isn't tenderness and caring and a hand holding mine suddenly somewhere in the landscapes of duvets and bodies sleeping.
Faces close makes me smile, silently; in what context have I heard about breathing the same air? Tantric sex? or is it relationship therapy, perhaps.
I enjoy and feel grateful for his frankness when it comes to those white spots I can think but not articulate. I am frank in return.
That sums up to like.
Added to that, my body has decided to turn to jelly over silly things like his voice, or hands touching or - even - the thought of him.
That's a lust thing.
But it's the day after, the day after the first lonely night in a bed which is suddenly big, it's the day after I wake up and notice the semblance of a crush. Smile of mush, limbs weak, heart touched by possible dreams with reruns of the look in his eyes after the last kiss (goodbye).
Then it feels like in love. And if he catches me before the feeling has diminished, who knows how I'll feel when he is one foot away next time.
If there is a next time, of course.
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