On Monday morning, just as I got off the train, the company in charge of moving my furniture called and told me they could do it on Wednesday. So there I went, back west to pack my belongings, tidy up and clean the flat.
The side effect, the very positive side effect, was the alternative lodging available to me after my own bed was moved out.
The oportunity to get another, better, goodbye.
I love it when I have, finally, gone to bed (in his bed) and he stays up writing but has to take a detour to see how I'm doing (sleepy), rub his stubbled chin to mine and smell my neck. Or kiss.
I love the look on his face. Nearly infinite tenderness.
I love it when he comes to bed (way past anyones normal bedtime) and snuggles close. Most nights, I have to break free, just a little, to give us both the space to sleep.
(The first night, it was I who woke him up, napping, and snuggled close. "Do you mind", he said, "sleeping here, even though it will be hell to wade through the sleep depravation tomorrow". I asked him right back. We don't mind.)
And who was that crazy idiot who feared that she would loose him?
The second night, I couldn't break the hold. The imprint of his thigh over mine is still there in my mind.
Yet another oxytocin high.
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