It's just like cracking an egg

Maybe it's time for me to buckle down and do this. Describe this. Get to the root of it, get to the point. Tell you the truth. Tell myself the truth. Or some version.

We sleep next to each other most nights, curled up against one another, holding hands. It's not about sex (mostly). It's comfort. Nearness. We go out of our way to do little things for each other, him cooking for me, me folding his socks when he leaves his laundry at my house. Laughing at the absurdity of the things we say, kissing when we get tired of talking. Discovering all the places in our neighborhood that have cheap beer and good cheese. Watching crime shows together until he falls asleep and I creep closer and breathe him in. I touch his knee all the time.

I can't decide who reminds me of who because he did this thing to my knee - that thing that looks like you're cracking an egg - and I thought of The New Guy. But when I see The New Guy next will it remind me of Mr. Right? Because they both do it. Is it humorous that it's not even sex? I don't have sex guilt. I have knee egg cracking guilt.