“Will you kiss me?” she said.
“Yes,” I said before kissing her.
“Now, come here,” she said, turning her back to me but pulling me closer with her hand.
I positioned my body like an outer shell to hers. She guided my arm around her body and held my hand tightly at the center of her chest. I lay there next to her, trying not to breathe too loudly, and felt her warmth on my hand and my chest and the fronts of my thighs. My chin rested on the top of her head, and the bottoms of her bare feet rested on the tops of my bare feet, and everything was warm from the top to the bottom. It wasn’t just a warmth; it was a weighted warmth.
Every night when I tried to fall asleep, I could bring myself more warmth by adding a blanket or turning on a heater, but a weighted warmth could never be attained without the warmth and weight of another living being. It would be impossible to simulate. She lay next to me, almost in me like books in a shelf, and I felt her warmth but I also felt the light pressure of her weight, and it was so goddamn addicting. The addition of something, some weight beside my own, made me feel relevant, like I was contributing to the world by carrying something beautiful through it.
-A tiny excerpt from my forthcoming novel: Isn’t It Pretty To Think So?
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