hensen + 66

His hands are bigger than mine. I feel like Jane and Tarzan when they study each other up in the tree. His hand is able to fold over mine and I continue to shrink every time. His three words never meant anything to me because of how early it all is, but the longer our days get, the closer I am to letting them slip from between my pressed lips. I think I feel it, but then I shirk away; afraid that when I say it...that will be it. There's no taking it back, even if the relationship ends, you'll always know that you meant it at some point in time. 

We spend most of the day together and I keep waiting for sudden impact: the moment when I'll feel the need to run as far away from him as possible. We watched the Olympics tonight on the couch. His fingers spreading through my tousled hair, the cat sleeping on my chest, and a feeling of utter comfort and content covering us like a sheet. He makes me feel safe like no one else can. I can feel moments, I can feel angry, happy, sad, annoyed, delighted, playful, childish, sexy, shy, hesitant, and confused. I can feel these things in all their emotional glory. 

I'm waiting for the day when he gets bored with me.

I'm waiting for the day when I have a pregnancy scare

I'm waiting for the day we go on vacation

I'm waiting for the day when I'll hate him

I'm waiting for the day when I'll say three words back and mean them with every ounce of my being.

I'm waiting to regret it all. 

Somehow, all the uncertainties make up this great big blooming bud. We are happy in single moments of time and without over-thinking those moments, we are able to basque in each others' lights.