boyfriend:

Sometimes I catch myself admiring him when he drives me home. I start with his right hand resting on the speed shifter. He loves this car so much sometimes I feel like I’m watching him hold my hand when he grips the knob to go faster. Every motion is gentle and delicate. My hands are signaled by the memory of how soft his are and sneak up to rest upon his. He pulls me forward and backward and allows my fingers to get lost. I like to watch them talk for a moment as if they were two separate organisms unattached to our bodies just as happily in love with each other as the rest of us. While my fingers get comfortable, my thumb moving rhythmically to message the side of his hand my eyes continue to travel up the steep slope of his arm to the place on top of his shoulder next to the side of his neck. I’ve never found a more perfect nook, where every time I breathe I am surrounded by the heat of my breath warmed by the heat of his skin; where every time I have been surprised by an unwanted army of tears I could watch them disappear into the seams of his shirt; where every time I leaped to hug him I found a place to land my chin. I can’t end this silent observation of him without leaning over to attack him with a kiss. Where my eyes finish their gazing is on the surface of his face handsomely concentrated on the long country road ahead. I push further into the prickles of his burly beard and smile as they poke and scratch at my lips. He smells like fresh laundry, suave shampoo, mingled with his own scent, one that can’t be found in any bottle of cologne, because he doesn’t believe in smelling like a douche bag. This is the smell I steal his sweaters for, the smell I wish I could wash all my pillow cases with because I might actually sleep well instead of staying up late at night missing him. We’re pulling up to my driveway now and the moonlight is reflecting off his eyes. It is all I need to start feeling the heartache of letting go when he looks to say goodbye. Of all the colors in his eyes, the shade of green is my favorite encircled by other browns and bright oranges. For a moment I measure the size of each hazel pigment and count the ways in which they match mine.The car hums in the background, he waits for me to shut the door and as his lights disappear down the trail of that mountainous road my thoughts chase after him.