The Memory Playlist

Bulletproof Love

Andy.

I find the key under the potted plant, the one I haven't used in forever. Although it's a simple act, sliding the key into the lock, twisting it, hearing the noise it makes, and opening my door after being gone so long feels like the most peaceful thing I've ever done. After three months of the continuous chaos that we have deemed "touring", walking into my home in the middle of the quiet and cool night is absolutely relaxing.

I open the door, not making a sound as I shut it, lock it, and set the key down on a coffee table in the living room. My bag is over my shoulder and heavy with clothes I haven't washed in weeks, so I walk in and throw the entire bag into the laundry room. But this is the only logical thing I do before I start my ascent upstairs, because I have one thing-- one girl-- on my mind: Niki.

It's when my feet are nearly stomping on the stairs that I disturb the dogs, so I'm met with curious gazes from the top few steps as I turn the corner. They immediately run down and meet me, and I pet them and let them lick me and I do everything I know they love because I haven't been able to. They're breathing heavy and I wonder if it'll wake Niki up, since she isn't exactly a heavy sleeper, but after a moment I let them go and continue upstairs, hearing their panting and padded pawsteps behind me.

When I walk into the room, I'm taking off my jacket and belt and shoes. I can see her silhouette from the moonlight coming in from the window above our bed, and even though her eyelids are hidden and closed I can see her eyes, those foggy green pools that look at me with a look I've missed more than anything, bright with imagination as she's dreaming. I throw the leather items away to the closet and walk towards the bed.

My girl is laying on her side, her body nestled into a pillow as a substitute for my chest. It makes me smile again when I remember how she's had this problem with not being able to sleep unless it's against me on her side. When I pull back the covers a little, I see her in her shorts from the day before and her bra, what she usually wears to bed without me. I chuckle lightly in remembrance. She's such a weird girl. Her hair is tousled and in disarray, hiding her cheekbones and shoulder from me.

Finally, I allow myself her comfort. I push her hair back and behind her, I pull the covers back enough to get into the bed, and I move my pillow from her arms to where my head will go. She stirs as I slip in, having lost my temporary replacement, but settles quickly when she finds me. She holds onto me tightly, conforming to me perfectly, and I can feel every inch of her and it's perfect; her arms-- one supporting her and the other resting on my chest, her head-- her hair against my arm, her cheek against my heart, her eyelids fluttering sleepily, her waist-- smooth and curved as I run my hand along it, and her legs-- starting to latch onto mine because of normality. I've never appreciated the curve of the small of a woman's waist to their hip so much before, nor have I felt such a sense of belonging knowing that the girl, the curves of her waist included, is mine. Every inch of her, most importantly her heart, is mine and she will admit that to the world. I scoot down a little more than my usual position so I can hold onto her a little closer, and she adjusts herself to fit.

It's then, when the air is settling and my heart rhythm is slowing and her eyelids stop fluttering, that I realize exactly how much this moment means to me. I could've woken Niki up-- she wouldn't have been upset-- and told her I was home, I could've had her hug me and kiss me and tell me how much she missed me, I could've held her and told her my tour stories as she settled back into sleep, and I could've fallen asleep knowing that my girl knew I was home, but I didn't need that. What I needed I received; I received a half-occupied bed, a beautiful girl awaiting my return, her adjustment to the familiarity of her body against mine, and a peaceful moment to myself to contemplate. There was no making love or celebrations and I didn't need that. What I got was what I wanted, and I couldn't have asked for anything more.