Last night I thought about my night-terrors in the hotel room we shared, and though you didn't touch me you were still there and you cared enough about me to ask me, and to worry about them. I adore you.
After we'd been, all five of us, over my reluctance to hug anyone, I complacently sat next to you and stroked your hair. I think you liked it because you edged closer and closer to my thigh. On the last day of University you were crying because your so-called friends were angry with you for not going to souless night clubs. Darling, come with me and we'll get drunk and skate away over music we like in a crowd we don't know. We don't have to do their thing. I gave you a hug then, it ended abruptly because I'm not sure it was what you wanted, sometimes I don't, when I'm sad.
When I was cold you gave me your pashmina and warmed me up and let me rest my head on your shoulder as you chafed my arm and wrapped me up closer. I was in a hypothermic daze but I was incredibly happy. I always am with you, silent, or asleep, or awake, you make me feel safe.
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