Magnets

When you tell me that you want to hear me talk about myself, all that I want to do is talk about myself in reference to you. The melding of us. The fusion of particles. The bright lights above a lake as stars float above our fixed forms in a boat of solid blackness. The magnetic forces that pull my hand to yours. That make me want to pull you close and run my hands through your hair.

The fact that you make me a better person. The fact that you give me strength, you give me confidence. You make me glad that I have survived so long. To come home at night to see you sleeping in the light of the television set. To wonder if maybe you were waiting for me. My question being answered when I see two mugs left out on the coffee table, one exactly where you like me to sit. Beside you. With you. With me.

When you tell me to talk about myself, all I want to say is that I want to be myself with you. When I’m around you the jokes are easy to throw at you because you’re so quick to catch them and throw one back. Because I love the way that your lips quirk up and the way that your eyes twinkle and your laugh is contagious. It wraps everything around it like a hug and a warm blanket.

When you tell me that you want to hear more about my life, I want to say that I want to make a life and a home with you. That I’m finally ready to make you my home.