I spent Saturday afternoon through Sunday afternoon with Chris at his house. We spent most of the time asleep. When I would wake up, sometimes I would play Pokémon Go or I would read things on Twitter.
Other times I would turn over and act like Edward Cullen. No, I’m not saying I wanted to eat him because he smells so awesome. (Generally speaking I always want to do other things because he smells so awesome.) I would just look at him and think how pretty he is, which I ended up telling him when he woke up while I was less inhibited due to my nighttime medication. (That may also be part of why I’m okay writing this.)
But he is so pretty.
And if you’re thinking that’s emasculating, fuck you. Pretty isn’t feminine or masculine. It’s just pretty. That’s what it is, and that’s what he is.
He is also handsome and sexy and gorgeous and adorable and I just want to look at him forever. And watch him change clothes. And smell his pillow when he’s in the bathroom. And listen to him say just about anything ever.
He’s pretty and perfect and his eyes are magical and I love him so much. This weekend was far from the first time I’ve thought these things. Another time was when we were on the flight to California and he was holding my hand across the aisle because I am fucking terrified of flying and I knew that I was safe because I was with him. I knew that I never wanted to not hold his hand because I am home when I hold it. I know that I am touching my other half. (Not in a The Divinyls or Britney sort of way.)
And, on the way back, when he was helping me not die from exposure to peanuts—thanks, Spirit—I felt secure. Also, I liked having a chance to rest my head on his shoulder for four hours. Just being able to touch some part of him—I know some of y’all went to Perv City on that—anchors me. Though my “love language” for expressing love may be gifts, I think receiving involves physical touch. Or it is with him, since my haphephobia is still there with most people.
I miss him right now, but I know I’ll see him again in a day and a half, and I’ll be there overnight. So I guess I just get to dream and daydream about his prettiness until then.