I am not too tired to watch the sunbeam on the rim of your coffee cup. The steam rolls gently in the lofty light. Your fingers are elegant; your hands move with absent grace. They curl around the mug, and you drink your espresso with two hands like a little kid. Your eyes trap the sunbeams like the tea in my cup, brown and amber depths drowning haloes of gold. We talk sleepily together. I try to soften my laugh so I can listen to yours. The house is big, and soft silence fills the space between words. I have never felt so warm, sitting at your table in my socks and this floppy shirt you handed me last night. It is 100% cotton and swallows me whole; I like it. I like you.
We put the dishes in the sink and look at each other because we both know. You lean against the counter, casual contrapposto, afraid to keep smiling; the fear dimples your left cheek and glazes your eyes. I want to tell you not to be scared, that I'll love you forever. No one will hurt you. I don't want to hurt you; I want to kiss you.
Upstairs, I start the shower. Standing under the pelting water, I turn my head to feel the pressure on my shoulders, move my hair, sigh and wonder. I imagine you in your room pulling on a shirt and socks, listening to the muffled sprinkling and thinking about how the sound is not yours.
You're bent over your sneakers when I come in, but you tilt your head up and smile at me. I'm wearing your slouchy Harvard sweatshirt and yesterday's jeans. You've layered a maroon sweater over a button-up, and you look like a prince who ran away to study art.
"Oh, you look cute," you murmur and turn your smile to the mirror. I return the compliment in staccato stutters. We soften and move past each other carefully. Motion might shatter the illusion; if our eyes meet, the dream will collapse.
In the car, music lures us out of our heads. Pacific wind throttles through the open windows, blushing our cheeks, ruffling our hair. We're screaming the lyrics; you're hitting every note, your voice climbing with the seagulls that soar over their own shadows. The sky is watercolor blue.
Suddenly, your hand clasps mine, and it's warm and earnest. Our fingers intertwine, and your eyes gently carve your initials into my ribs. I smile through tears at my own fear as your face phases into my memory; I am saving you for a rainy day. My heart is full of good pain, and we are two small worlds in a car skimming down the empty road.
