We lie on our own beds, a few thousand miles away in physical distance (although to me there's only you being next to me and you being not, so it's the same even if you were just half a mile away and out of my sight), covered with out blankets of steady love but hugging onto lovesickness. It's been so long, so very long, but the days do pass and the one I've been waiting on all summer is nearing and we'd be in each other's arms again. My heart aches so much for that, that it cries out with each of its little pump.
Soon, love. Soon.
I love that when you couldn't sleep and wanted someone to talk to, you came to me. I mean, they'd all say of course you would come to me, who else? But it still feels so nice that you did (do).
The conversation's different coz we're drunk on sleepiness, so it's an extension of repeated "I love you's" and multiple hearts. Still, it's good. But the love and missing all well up in me, all at once, and I cry. Not in the way I sometimes now do, out of worry or hopelessness, but this is an overflow of the love in my chest, of all I feel for you.
Even the simple tenderness of "Can't sleep love". It's the 'love' that gets to me. The very essence of what we are to one another.
Love is strong. And so are we.