As I lay in bed, I can feel his hand moving towards mine; his breath relaxes when our fingers interlock. Interestingly, we don’t hold hands in public. The constant need of showing affection is not what I believe a relationship should be. We agree on something. However, we couldn’t be more different. He likes the sun; I like the moon. He likes the ocean; I live for the concrete. I like Diet Coke; he drinks only water. When he wakes up, I’m still sleeping. When I go to bed, he holds my hand. With our fingers locked, I know we are ok. Love is still there; our mutual admiration continues to thrive. Still, it’s a battle to be with someone every day. We fight as antagonists of one another. We discuss most of the time, for the most illogical reasons. The garbage I refuse to put outside; the iPhone screen he gazes when I am talking with him. The little things we try to be better at, but we keep failing to do so. I pass by the trash, “I can do it later” until the bin is full. Wait, I’ll take the trash. His anxiousness says I won’t. When I get home, the trash bag is by the door. He leaves there to remind me of my reluctance. I take the trash bag to the recycle bin – “if he brings to the door, he can take it outside” – this is not his responsibility, it is mine. I ask him not to leave the trash bag by the door. Please. He asks me to repeat what I just said. I sit at the table and grab my phone. Leave me alone. He drops his phone and sits opposite of me. Look at me. I pretend he is not there. I ask, “Do you have something to say now?” He speaks for 10 minutes. In the end, we’re laughing at the stupidity of our life. Every night when he holds my hand, I revive the detail of our relationship. The longer we sustain each other, the more I observe how our love progresses; how much love is mutable. I want to know the person I live with and who I live for; discover the nuances I still don’t know: in his body, in his being. We are constantly laughing; he makes me laugh. We teach one another how to be better. We believe in us. I don’t need to show he is with me; I don’t need gifts; I don’t need to hear him say, “I love you.” He touches my hand under the sheets for five minutes or less, and I don’t need anything else.


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