home, the first time
Fresh off the plane, I picked you up at the airport myself. We were both excited. You hadn't been away on a trip in a very long time. I hadn't been excited about a girl probably longer.
You agreed to travel so far without knowing me very well. It was a fools errand to ask, but you said yes none the less.
We hugged and kissed at the foot of the stairs. I had never done that before or since in my home town airport. It felt right, like you were coming home to me.
We went back to my parents, where I was staying. It was late, I don't think they were up. It wouldn't matter, the guest room was made up.
Arriving, I showed you your room, the bathroom and and a quick tour of the house. We whispered to keep from waking them, but I am sure they woke anyway.
We parted, each off to get ready for bed.
Doors closed, but lights on, with a glow coming from the crack beneath. The house was mostly silent. Turns taken in the bathroom, our paths didn't cross.
Darkness, as the lights turned off. Quiet and calm.
Minutes later, a faint rapping was heard. My door or yours, I am not sure, but it was quickly answered.
Door opened, in the darkness we touched, hand on hip or shoulder, ushering the other inside.
You climbed into the futon. A futon not built for two, but one that fit.
Secrets told and promises made, you stayed with me every night, creeping out after the house was silent.
Never once sleeping in that spare bed.
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