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I have been toying around for a while with what I want to post here and recently it came to me quite simply and easily. I want to post my stories. I want to post any work that I consider good enough to share, with friends or family. If that seems broad, yeah, it is. To avoid writing another post about what I’m doing to post, I’ll just say that I don’t want this to be curated so much as honest.

I wrote this piece a while ago and then changed some details to make it more anonymous who the story is about and when it takes place.

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He comes into the room and sits down. We talk for a bit. He’s leaving shortly, mere hours until we are again on opposite sides of the country. I don’t want to feel the miles as a barrier, but I know I do.

Except right now, here he is in my room. I can see his face and detect everything in the raise of an eyebrow or slight twitch of the lips. In between mocking others and exchanging feelings about the imminent return to normalcy, our eyes find each other and we see in them sadness unexpressed in our words.

He opens his arms and moves over to make space next to him. My body curls toward the couch and settles into his arms. My head rests on his back and his in my shoulder. Our arms are around each other and we settle. His shirt is soft on my face. In a way, I cannot move. My arms do not magnetically and maniacally traverse his torso and run through his hair. They stay where they are, gently stroking his back. I shift my head slightly to feel the warmth of his shirt on my face, to reassure him that I am there and feeling.

He shifts, and so do I. We are at rest again. We have moved closer our legs pulled up onto the sofa.

He shifts again and so do I. This time our faces touch, cheek to cheek. He has slight stubble that strokes the side of my face. His hands come up and cup my chin, surround my face. We are saying small words, words that fit how our arms and legs and cheeks rest on each other in relaxation. I lean into him and he leans into me. “I feel close.”, he says.

We stay.

I say I have to go, and we hug. He leaves. We are the best of friends, you know. I feel so loved and so does he.

Later, another comes into my room. I hear a knock and smile as he walks in, a smile to indicate that I am glad to see him. He smiles back, and we are silent and it weighs down on me slightly. He sits on the sofa and I on a chair. I cannot find words and instead find his eyes again to fill the void. I remember in the bathroom, the other night, that lonely and starved for attention, longing to be held tight, I told him he was adorable. We kissed, and I admit I am unsure if it was nice or not. It’s a bit of a blur.

But I think it was nice. He’s a nice person. He likes the outdoors and spends time with his family. It turns out we both enjoys classical music. He lists concerts that he has seen and expresses a quiet enthusiasm. He likes them. Like.

I move up onto the sofa and we sit, one leg, two leg, three leg, four leg. One and two, mine, bend up, and I lean into him. The space between us fills, but there are gaps. I am not sure where to put my head, shoulder, arm. I rest on his leg. Should it be there?

We talk more. About music and restaurants. Where should we get dinner? I joke that we could go to the tapas place where everyone goes for dates, and I read something in his response. I am not sure, however, if it is a yes or a no. He starts — I start to respond. Silence. Well, I say, we can decide later. And I smile and look him in the eyes. His smile has questions in it, interest.

I have to go to bed. Are you a college student?, he asks, referring to the ridiculously early hour at which I chose to sleep. Is this even a college?, I joke. Yes, he says. It has the word college in it.

We stand and pull into a hug. I feel the motions coming out of me on autopilot. I wrap my arms around him and turn my cheek into his chest. I hold slightly tighter and press my whole body into the hug. These motions.

I pull slightly away and regretfully stroke his arm, down to his fingertips. I grab his hand and squeeze. I’ll see you tomorrow, I say, with a smile and eyes and then look away.