social closure

“Hey,” I call out with a grin.

He looks up from his phone and grins back, all wonky teeth and crinkled eyes. He doesn’t say anything; he doesn’t have to say anything. It’s in the way he straightens his back and opens his arms, reaches a hand for me to hold. He pushes unkempt strands of wind-stirred hair from my face and lightly brushes my cheek. A blush tints his freckles.

“Hi,” he mumbles.

His voice has a slight rasp in it the way it does when he’s up before morning coffee. Peaceful, calm. Unguarded. It’s been a bit. His eyes half close. His lips fall into a lazier smile. He leans forward and plants a light kiss on my forehead. Better. I rest my head on his chest and take a deep breath. Cinnamon and chocolates; snow on Christmas morning. Almost Christmas. The autumn chill shakes us. The tip of his nose turns pink. He’s warm. It’s cold. Neither pillows nor comfort food could replace his big jacket and warm hands forever.

We stand in silence all the while, revelling in the sound of the great outdoors. The brittle crunch of autumn leaves under slow passing boots, the ring of shop bells, the rise and fall of his wide shoulders. He catches my eye and I find a smaller version of myself reflected in the dark of his iris.

“Finally.”

-

note

stay at home to keep your loved ones safe!

you’ll see all the people you want to see soon. :)