I know it’s love because you roll the joint just for me and go off, leaving me with my laptop and my silence and there is no sense of dissatisfaction. I know it’s love because when my fingertips touch your skin, you lean into it.
I have spent my life moving from moment to moment, always uncertain that the people around me would still be there in the next. I’ve chased trains and cars and run down whole terminals in the airport on nothing but the faint scent of a familiar perfume. I am not the letting go type. I am not designed for absences like cancerous tumors between two people. I am too soft for space and distance and time.
I know it’s love because you always come home.