by Ness White

I held her close, pulled her in closer, kissed her shoulder and told her I loved her.

Her shoulder raised and I could tell she was smiling by the way she said, “I love you, too.”

This feeling between us, our love, our hopes, our dreams, our past seven years together, I hold onto all of that when I hold her every night. Who knows if this will be our last? If so, I want to remember us like this: protected, valued, longed for, cared for.

I’ll hold her during the day, too. Like today, when we took a break to watch tv on our couch. She leaned against me, head on my chest, her skin warm, her smile warmer. Our two cats must have felt it, too. They jumped up to join us. We’ve never had so much time for this, for us, for growth, for conversation.

Just yesterday, I told her, “You know, when we get old and I look back on our life, I’ll remember this time with you and I’ll always want it back.”

I think not, actually. I want my time with her now to be a template for how we’ll share the rest of our life, even when things get better.

I want to always hold her close, pull her in closer, kiss her shoulder and tell her I love her.