At 8:30 this morning, his alarm sounded and I lazily lifted my head from the crook of his arm to look out the window at the falling snowflakes. I live in the deep South these days, this ain't normal, its no common thing. Its no common thing to wake pressed against The Dane and yet it feels more and more normal every time it happens. We watched the snow from his window for a moment before burrowing back under his covers, bare skin touching bare skin.
I dreamed he told me he loved me.
I dreamed I said it back.
I felt ashamed talking to him as we slowly woke up on this snow day, fearful he would be able to tell the truth about me, ashamed Dream Me is too obvious in her desires. Play it cool is all I keep telling myself. He has to come to it on his own terms. I know this. I cannot change his mind by sheer will. But spending 24 hours holed up with him, anticipating Magical Snow, felt easy and comfortable. He made me coffee and cinnamon toast last night when we briefly put on some article of clothing, we sat facing each other in his kitchen, looking each other in the eye, feet intertwined, and told stories.
I can't say how many times I've told myself I'm setting myself up to fail, how alike we are, The Dane and me, how me going it alone is probably best for me, is the way for me to accomplish all I want to and maybe propel me back out of this small town sooner rather than later. Me going it alone makes it impossible to settle, not that The Dane would be settling but that being a pair means compromising, and I'm not getting any younger but since when is 27 old? I have time to fall in love, but isn't that the point of it all?
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