a story for if we became strangers.

I finished a drive from my mother’s house where I visited my family and did my laundry. I’m 26 but I still bring my hamper when I come to see my hometown like I’m in college again. I slept on her couch and woke up to a small heater placed near my feet. Even in the wobbly sleepwalk to her bedroom, she would never let me get cold. 

I walked up to my apartment door, fumbled with my keys, and opened up to my dimly lit living room. My cat rolls on the floor to greet me and I walk to my room. I throw my unfolded clothes onto my bed and lie down next to them. I always hate how long it takes me to put things in their places. As I folded and organized, I knew that the night was to be a night claimed by my big sweatpants and newly cleaned sheets. 

There are not many things I love more than feeling small in my bed engulfed by my covers. I washed my face and nestled in the middle to read by my candle. Here, though I was not lonely, I finished my book and I thought about you. 

It was just for a second because if I were to talk about any of these things with anyone for me I would pick you. Even as strangers now, maybe less likely but still true. For me, it would be you. 

Did you ever change the head on your toothbrush? I hope so, might be a little unhygienic not to. Do you still avoid pajamas? Has your crew sweatshirt collection grown? Is your sleep cycle still terrible that you would still be awake if I called you to tell you about this book? Not important now. 

I felt my eyes fluttering and begging for rest which meant I’d see you so soon. In my dream that night, I finished the book and didn’t think to wake you. I could tell you in the morning. Instead, I turned to face your body. I curled into your shoulder blades, your bare skin brushing my eyelashes. My eyes were relieved from straining them to read. 

In all of my dreaming, I am home. Wrapped up in you, I always hope the morning takes a little longer to arrive.