It's the way back home

Dear future hubster,

if I had to describe with one word, what's missing from my life right now, that one word would be intimacy.

If I was given a few more words though, I could detail it a bit. What intimacy is.

It's eating from the same plate. And possibly stealing all the cheese bites.

It's me choosing your shirt.

It's you telling me to wash my feet before I put them on the fancy cream sofa (seriously, who has a cream colour sofa??)

It's you letting me loose in your kitchen. Because, you know, I'm not a guest.

It's you tucking me in when I need a nap.

Actually, it's me feeling comfortable to take an afternoon nap. It's also not always needing you by my side when I take said nap.

It's me letting you play your music in the car when you drive. It's also you trying to fiddle with the radio when I drive, and then stopping it when you see me glare.

It's waking up next to you, yes, but not only that. It's waking up next to you, grumpy and messy as I always am in the morning, and it's not having to talk. It's you kindly pushing me in the right direction, making sure I don't hit the doorway or the closet that I otherwise would. It's me making your tea while waiting for my coffee. It's you messing up my hair and it's me breathing in your morning scent, from the hollow of your neck. It's you asking me if you need a jacket, and it's me telling you I'm not your mother. (And then asking you to wear a scarf as well, because I act like a worrying mom sometimes.)

It's asking "how was your day?", but not as a routine, but as a starter of a real conversation. Because it's you laughing out loud when I tell you about the office drama, and it's me pointing out that you want to play the lonely hero at work. It's understanding where our limits are, and it's knowing that life and work are just not that serious.

It's me resting my head on your shoulder in that tacky romantic movie-way, and it's you poking my belly in a way no romantic movie ever shows.

It's you holding my handbag in the mall when I go to the bathroom; it's me carrying your keys and wallet in said handbag. 

It's me no longer feeling the need to leave the room when you call your mother; it's you commenting on my phone conversation with my best friend.

It's you not pretending everything is all fine when there is smoke coming out of your ears; it's me not feeling self-conscious burying my face in your chest, even when I know I'm upsetting myself over something irrelevant.

It's being comfortable with who we are, in the presence of somebody else.

It's intimacy, and it's not that easy to achieve, or to accept.

It's still what we should both be aiming for.