In times of contemplative wanderings or simply staring into the emerald of a television as my mother inhales the appalling world of Latter Day Saints I nonchalantly drift into him. I psychologically graze into the next bedroom where in my blue snaked-skinned pattern overnight bag lays that over-sized tee he gave me one morning as I searched for my own.
My bound self finds her eyelids drifting into a day dream state and smiles at the thought of the shirts ironic play on the movie Pulp Fiction as Pup Fiction containing dog faces.
Jolting suddenly out of dreamy haze I extend my free arm lazily to grab my phone. Before my minds eye can capture my actions I've already sent a mindless text. Regret followed by no response. The usual.
Hours pass until I am back into that hazy state of pure emotion.
Those late nights and early mornings laying sleepily to my own side as his strong arms find there way around my waist and immediately indulged in all his man. Nestled in his all his warmth where any slight chance of escape is recaptured with an earnest pull.
I drastically open my eyes and seconds later hear that familiar notification.
He feels me.
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