Laptop on my knees, I curl into my green butterfly chair, tucked in the corner of the little living room. It's new, and the microfiber is soft against my skin. I close my eyes, the light from the wall scarcely outshining the computer screen. The first notes of Bring Me to Life float like ghosts through my headphones, and I tuck my arms against myself. I feel cold and tired. No. Tired is too flat, too stale a word. Weary. I am weary.

Nothing traumatic has happened, nothing externally is wrong. I haven't been snubbed, done anything dumb, anything. It's just one of those nights.

In my mind, I start changing the situation, pull myself into a dream.

________________________

The light does not brighten, but softens. The music is Secondhand Serenade, Fall For You. I anticipate the knock on the door before the sound startles the empty apartment. Smiling, I lift my laptop and set it on the coffee table, scooching out of my chair. My chest warms as I touch the handle of the door and pull.

He stands there, hands in pockets. I can't tell exactly what he looks like, but I know he's at least athletic if not a runner, so he's in good shape. And I think he's taller than me. His hair color is indeterminate, but given how few true blonds there are, it's probably some shade of brown.

"Hey, come on in." I step back, stomach giving its instant hop into some unknown state - a blend of anticipation, nerves.

He comes in and smiles, and I feel the world slow, narrow to a point which is this room, all that exists. As time yawns and settles into a drowsy pace, the weird feeling in my gut melts away, and I am me.

We talk for a long time. An hour? Two? Eventually I feel my eyelids droop, and know this has to end for tonight. Six am comes early. I inhale slowly, so, so content.

He checks his watch and pulls a face. Must have the same thoughts as me, because he pushes his chair back with an awful scrape. (I've GOT to get furniture pads for those stupid things). We chat for a couple more minutes about nothing. I mentally cross my fingers. Please, please, do it.

I can't contain the world's widest smile as he pulls me into a hug. I wrap my arms around his back and close my eyes, head resting on his shoulder. His scent is his own, and good. For so long I thought being in love would mean feeling awestruck or besotted everytime someone entered the room. Acting dreamy and dazed. Dazzled and tongue-tied.

Maybe it is that way for some. It might happen occasionally for me. But as I relax now, I know. It is something quieter, something solid and sure. It is being inside during a thunderstorm, protected as lightning lances the ground. It is having a parachute before jumping out of a plane.

I know that with him, I am safe. I can be me. Utterly, totally, purely me, saying those things I think but don't say, not watching out for myself in every word and gesture. I can look straight in his eyes and it is alright, easy and simple. And I know now, here, in this moment, it is safe. I am safe.

___________________________


The song ends. I refuse to open my eyes for a moment, holding on to the warmth I thought I felt, a phantom, the child of an idle mind. But no. The only warmth I feel is heat from my laptop. Blinking hard, I pull my lungs close, pressing out the last drop air in silent keening. This is foolish. Nothing is truly wrong. But for tonight, it hurts, as I long for something I do not yet have.