are we home yet?

"Thanks," I said.

And I really meant it.

You laugh it off, but I think that's all you know how to do.

The way you hold me makes me know you care more than you might ever be able to say.

And I wonder, if maybe just once, you could let out the words for a coo.

Something tells me there is more to it,
something that pins the words to the inside of your heart,
and maybe,

maybe,

it's just me.

I wonder.

I do always wonder.

We spent the day cuddled, laughing, loving.

Your grandma hugged me and told me I was cute.

She wins though.

I don't even want to write this since it always seems like a dream but the purple sky last night made it clear to me that this is more than I ever thought it was.

I teared,
but you didn't notice.

The night was upon us, driving snaky roads and the fog lifts our hearts.
We sang out just like I always loved,
and in this moment,

no matter what the silence is before or after, I feel a heart skip and it won't stop skipping.

And then later,
in bed,

my heart fluttered and so fast.
I didn't want to listen to the shrill since it told me how much I care
and I do, and I do, and I say thanks because that's what I know how to say.

Always wondering if it is you or me,
and I think it's the both of us - still petrified and still so delighted.

You bought me a chocolate bar.

I don't know why.

It's minty and I like it but it's got no texture, it's filled with air, and I wonder,

is it metaphor again?

& &

I just want to buy things for my home.

I want home.

I want you.

I want you in my home,
then
I think
I will know.

...