The Silent Type

A bubble out of time, memories from a dream.
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A brand new city, only a few weeks of it no longer feeling like wishful thinking when I tell people I live here. My backpack is finally unpacked, clothes in drawers and things how they should be.
 One night, I finish giving a class with a smile on my lips. Turn on the shower, let the hot water drop and drip along my body. 

Outside, raindrops chatter in muted echo. The day is over - the evening is starting.
I arrive under the cover of darkness. Everywhere, the smell of wet asphalt and fresh grass. Then, you.

  Our eyes meet and warmth spreads across our bodies. We finally meet.
It has been a long time coming. A long time of waiting and hoping. Words across a page, contact through screens. It was never meant to be enough on its own. Lips meet, softly at first. A ballet of getting to know each other, of listening to a quickening of breath, a weakness in the knees, and irresistible desire. Giving in. It feels like a late spring breaking, it feels like a cellar door cracking open, it feels like an earthquake must feel to the first morning dew.

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Swept away, we gasp, and arrive ashore – our bed as a boat. No words can do it justice and so no words are spoken. Until the very end, where we need an echo of what happened, a checking in.
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It's lovely to meet you. It truly is.