I love him when he’s standing. I notice how tall he is and it makes me feel small in a good way. I want to kiss him, but I am held back. Instead, I throw my arms up like a child and he bends down and pulls me close. He says something in to my hair and I feel comforted. I am calm because he is here with me. This is how it always begins. This is how he enters my world. And I let him in as far as almost anyone ever gets. I bring him in to a place called familiarity, where we live out our routine. Where we are comfortable, as if we had always been here in this place together.

He takes off his shoes in the hallway. He’s in his uniform and I am in mine. He wears black. I wear my dress. He removes his jacket and his hat and lies down on the bed. I crawl in next to him and again he pulls me in close, and again I want to kiss him, but I am held back. I wonder if he sees it in my eyes, this longing. So I don’t look. I nuzzle my face in to his neck and chest. My fingers replace the words I’d like to say as they caress him. His hair, his face, his chest, his arms. My pinky cautiously brushes his hand. I want my little hands wrapped up inside of his, just as much as his arms are ar...