We spend the morning tangled up in each other’s arms, drunk off of the smell of each other’s skin. I make your tea just the way you like it, and set it on your nightstand as your messy hair cascades over the pillow. Our day consists of stealing glances, being reminded of the familiar feeling of being content, and kisses that still feel like home.
Boxes lay strewn about in rooms all over the house, with black sharpie handwritten “kitchen” or “master bedroom.” I can’t help but think about what it will be like when your head rests in another place, just a few miles across town. Will you still feel me kissing you goodnight? Will you joke as you rush around with wet hair and a tube of mascara in your hand, that one day you’ll make it to work on time?
We lay in bed, rifling through memories…
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