They went to sea in a sieve, they did. They went to sea in a sieve.

AN- my attempts at self expression. It's harder for me to write when I'm happy, so this will be interesting, if to no one but me.

I hate not sleeping next to you. Did you know that? I hate not having your warmth and the sound of your breath whistling in your chest the way it does when you're on your back and out like a light. I hate waking up alone and knowing you're too far away to kiss good morning. I hate when I can't sleep and wind up missing the chance to curl up with you and dream away the night.
I never used to be this way. Before I couldn't stand having someone hanging on me in bed, their arm weighing me down and their movements keeping me up. I couldn't sleep unless I was alone under the sheets, able to toss and turn my way into unconsciousness. But I've learned to love it with you. I'm learning a lot of things. How to not care if we're having spaghetti again, because I'm having it with you. How to sit still and enjoy being quiet. How to feel like the world isn't really that big of an engulfing place, and I will find my spot in it. With you I feel enormous, a giant.
Funny, coming from me I guess. A tiny little girl that hasn't broken 100 pounds in four years. Little bird-like me, with my hollow bones and quick little nervous movements. But with you I don't feel like my only options are fight or flight. Nature has taken a back seat for the moment. I'm not sure if it'll ever come back up to drive, or if I want it to. Perhaps the years of learned behavior are wearing thin, and I'm finding a way to squeeze through the cracks out to another side. Somewhere I can feel safe to voice all my half-baked schemes and crazy dreams.
You claim to never dream, or never remember them. I've always had such surreal and haunting night time visions sometimes my brain can't tell the difference. I've woken up screaming. You're lucky enough to have missed that part of my life. Waking up with the image of black hand prints burned into my skin. I used to shy away from touch because it reminded me too much of my nightmares. Now I wake up to your hand on my hip and your lips on my shoulder and smile and move closer.
It's strange, feeling yourself change about like this. Like a slow-motion earthquake, only we're all going to land on our feet. I love it. I love the way every day I feel different in a new and exciting way. The way sitting at home with you is worth all the late night after parties put together. The way I smile when no one's around to see it. The way people tell me I look different, better, happier.
I'm not pretending things won't be hard. They often are. But no army or wall or chasm or task seems so big I can't handle it. I feel like I could take on the world and come out the other side without a hair out of place. I feel gigantic, invincible, immortal. I feel mythical, like out of a story.
Some day maybe I could explain this and make sense. Or maybe not. Greater writers than me have tried and failed. Maybe my small pittance of talent will do, merely because it is so very simple.

AN- Well, that was... something. Don't know what. I'm off to bed. Sweet dreams.
PS- Aquila! Come back to the land of the writers! We miss you.