The first time we kissed. The first time we held each other. The first time we slept with arms entwined, bodies bare and buried under the covers.
It was before the snow melted on the verge of spring, when I would open the windows to dry the sweat from our skin.
I put on a song that made me cry, because she said that it turned her on, and with the tears welling up in my lids, we stared into each others’ eyes.
From the moment we touched, there was never any awkwardness. Only a complete trust, a comforting familiarity, as if we’d known each other for years, a gentle nuzzle of the nose from my baby-faced doll.
What I enclose in arm and leg at night, or press my back against when I roll over.
They say it takes weeks to get used to sleeping with someone (or without someone, when the relationship is over), but for me, the transition is seamless. All it took was an extra pillow, and some space accommodation for two stuffed animals, and a braided shred of old blankie.
Every day, I wake up between two and five in the morning. It’s an affliction I’ve had for years, something that wouldn’t be so bad if I could fall asleep again, but my mind always races, keeping me up for another hour or two. When she’s next to me though, my thoughts remains calm.
Coolest thing about a girlfriend who’s a registered massage therapist: general health and medical training means that she can distinguish between the different gaits and kinetics of the thirteen different Eternal Darkness characters.