I should be working.
But instead my head wants to feel the cloudy pressure of an airplane cabin and
my ears want to pop. My legs want to curl under me, layered with the scratchy
acrylic of a cheap blue airline blanket. My left arm wants to be tangled with his
right one, in that easy way that grants my left temple perfect access to
his right shoulder, which my lips will undoubtedly want to kiss from time to time.
And my eyes want to close and that subtle place where my forehead turns into hair
wants to be kissed and I want to slide into a perfect calm of closeness so that
I don't even realize when the Rocky Mountains come into view.
Longing can be so painfully intense. I never knew.
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