Bad at Endings.

Epilogue

It's still early when I wake up.
The sunlight that filters into the room is muted and slow.
Next to me John is still asleep.
He has rolled over onto his back somewhere during the night and both sides of his face are now clearly on view.
The contrast between them makes my heart hurt.
One side smooth, faultless and innocent and the other side swollen, bruised and hurt....but still beautiful nonetheless.
I carefully reach out and graze his skin with the tips of my fingers but apparently I'm not careful enough because my touch wakes him.
The honeyed light of the early sunrise uses his fluttering eyelashes as springboards and dives into the blue pools of his eyes as he opens them.

And then he sees me.

And the smile he gives me is even more radiant.

A dimple forms in his left cheek and for a moment I really don't know what to say but eventually I just go with: “good morning.”

He stretches and grimaces when that seems to hurt him and I wonder where else his body is bruised that I haven't been able to see yet.
“Hey”, he says. His voice is deep and drenched in the remnants of sleep and I want him to be like this all the time. Soft and unguarded and close and....mine.

I might be staring at him.
Maybe I've been quiet for a bit too long.
Maybe I should say something again.

“Did you sleep well?”, I ask.

He nods.
“I like your bed.”

Once again my heart just melts at the mere mention of something that John likes about me.

“I like it too”, I say, “but I like it even better with you in it.”

He chuckles, drowsy and slow and private and I want to take off all of my clothes and drape myself in the sound of it for the rest of my days.

And then he winces again as his laughter pulls a little bit too tightly on his damaged lip.
And I remember yesterday. What he had told me, what I had said to him, what happened before....

“I'm still very sorry”, I tell him.

He frowns.
“What for?”

I look away from him and the tell-tale signs of what I've done to him written all over the skin of his face in deep blues and purples and just the hint of bursting yellow and ugly green.
“For pushing you”, I say, “for forcing you to come out to your dad.....for......”, I look at him and this time I grimace, “....for everything.”

John turns to his side and underneath the covers one of his hands finds my arm.
“Hey”, he says, “it's alright. None of this is your fault, okay? This was going to happen eventually.”

“I hate that you got hurt.”

“I know.”

We both are quiet for while as the sun climbs higher and higher and the sliver of light that manages to push through the gap between my curtains makes everything appear warm and golden.

Eventually I turn back towards John.
“I'm really glad you're here”, I say.
Because I am.
Only yesterday I thought we were done. I thought whatever we had, had come to an end. I thought I had ended us.
But I hadn't.
Because John is even more amazing than I already thought he was.
“But I still am sorry”, I add.