these are the things i’ll remember always.
dancing on your rooftop. the first cold night of the year, but we went up anyway, bundled in coats and carrying wine bottles and glasses and speakers that only sometimes worked, but there always had to be music. because of this, every memory i have with you has its own soundtrack. you were surprised when i started dancing; i don’t think i ever had danced in front of you before. you spun me around and then pulled me close and we half-stood, half-swayed. i put my head on your shoulder and squeezed my arms around your waist, and you rested your cheek on my temple. i will forever remember the scratchy feeling of stubble on my skin, the cold air, the way i breathed in the smell of you and wished desperately to keep this, this moment right now. if i could just have this forever, i would be happy, always.
hours later, i awoke shivering in your bed. i sat up to pull the blanket over us, and you stirred in your sleep, reaching out and wrapping your arms around me and fiercely pulling me in close, my face buried in the nook of your neck. even in my drowsiness i remember being alarmed but pleased, that in your sleep you reached for me, you pulled me back when you thought i was slipping away; that even without thinking you needed me, instinctively. that somewhere deep down, maybe you need me as much as i need you.
