It's cold outside this morning, but in your bed, it's all warm and comfortable. Not like when you're snuggled in so many layers that it feels stifling and itchy, but when the covers are just heavy enough and you're motivated to do absolutely nothing for the rest of your life.
Well, I want you there with me; under the confinements of our cozy cocoons with my arms wrapped around you and our legs intertwined, because you know I need somebody to hold.
My hair is probably all tangled and frizzy and your breath most likely smells horrific (don't worry, mine's worse) but neither one of us is getting up any time soon and we're fine with that, because we've accepted our imperfections; we understand it's just the way God wanted it, and we acknowledge that we don't need to be anything more.
We don't have to wish it will all go like the movies; the difference is that we are learning to love and they are learning to pretend.
And the funny thing is, we're going to fall, pick fights, and shed tears; the reason being that you're too arrogant and I'm too stubborn, but in the end, we'll still wake up the next morning with you drooling on the pillow and me hogging all the blankets...
And we're perfectly fine with it.
YOU ARE READING
The Book of Healing
PoetryShe's not okay, but writing it down helps. - Part I: It's time to rip off the band-aid. Poems: slam, traditional, free-verse. The first twenty are not up to par with the others, but this is an ongoing journey so I feel the need to include them...
