I marvel at the texture of his hair, of being able to run my fingers through it and fluff up his bangs. The depth of his gentle, blue eyes. The warmth of his flesh. The comforting smell of his body, his clothes. The clearness and closeness of his voice, unadulterated by internet connections and unfiltered by the reception of cell phones. How tall he is, how big—how he wraps around me when I move to embrace him and dwarfs me, encloses me. I hold his hands again, view his nails- those tattered nails, so typical of a man yet so carelessly adorable nonetheless. As I interlock my fingers with his, our palms meet like old friends. The contours of his face—I had forgotten how nuanced they were, how fine. These details had faded from my memory after countless hours, weeks, and months we go apart from each other too often...
In person, after months of being so far apart, his fullness of being and his very real presence are striking.
How glad it makes me.
