You woke with her fingers playingwith yours/ soft, slow, tangling, slipping free, dancing between.

But as you took that first real breath, she dissapeared, leaving behind the scent of her skin, the heat of her body, but nothing else.

I have a confession…

I keep imagining the moment you walk through the door.

I’ve come to one conclusion.

You’re not making it very far.

Because the second I see you…

I’m claiming you, again.

Fair warning.

You should probably brace yourself for a welcome-home kiss that makes up for twenty-four days apart.

I have a completely serious question.

When you come home…

Should I kiss you first…

Or hug you first?

I’ve been trying to decide all day.

My current solution is…

Both.

Repeatedly.