I crave comfort.

In empty beds, in strangers’ arms, in bottles of alcohol.

Have I found it? Yes. For a moment. Always fleeting, always fading.

I’m clumsy. Always have been. So, I know I’ll fall.

I always do. But I’ve started looking before I step, instead of going flying across the pavement and landing face-first. Slow, hesitant, baby steps.

You are my safe space. An embodiment of comfort. Falling asleep to the beating of your heart and soft muffled snores against my hair, as if it isn’t strange at all. Sleeping next to another body; a shared intimate space.

I accidentally left my coat at your apartment. Maybe it meant nothing. But it’s symbolic to me (then again, everything’s symbolic to me), a part of me scrawled across your floor. A belonging of mine, in a room that is solely yours, missing from mine.

Your home isn’t home to me. You aren’t home to me. But somehow, you give me the comfort I never thought I could find, oceans away from my home.

I’ve experienced it all before. Over and over again. Same old stories, same old endings, all disastrously beautiful. The very beginning, the falling, the stage where everything feels like a dream, the abrupt jerk back to reality, and of course, the crashing. It’s a pattern I know all too well.

But this, I haven’t felt before. I don’t know how it began or the spell you cast on me (you do keep jokingly calling yourself a wizard). But with you, I get more and more me each day, and I’m so subconsciously comfortable with you that I don’t even realize how effortlessly I bare my entire soul to you. Maybe you don’t either, maybe you just think I’ve always been this way. That I’ve never held myself back, that I’ve never been hurt enough to be closed off, that I welcome love, and everything else that could potentially and unexpectedly end, with open arms.

I know I can tell you everything, and I mean it when I say everything; I’ve always been the reserved kind, writing everything I couldn’t say out loud. I could never cry in front of people; I cried in front of you on the third date (something I’m not proud of, but hey, I didn’t feel the need to mask my vulnerability with a fake smile). It’s just astounding to me, how quickly I let you in, how I didn’t even give you the chance to break down my walls – I willingly put them down for you.

When I longed for comfort, my mind would go back to an old friend or my childhood home or the song with the perfect amount of nostalgia. I never thought I’d find it in something so ephemeral, something so new that it scares the shit out of me.

It scares me so much because when you leave… boy, will it hurt.



9 thoughts on “Comfort

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