It's a mellow night. There's a howling wind blowing just outside my windows, but inside it's warm and cozy - Just right for being introspective, listening to Sarah McLachlan, Fiona Apple, and Jann Arden, and sipping wine.
Peter is on his way over. I like the sound of saying that. It rolls off my tongue so naturally, as if there was never a time where it wasn't true. Two weeks. That's all it's been since I was so brazen to ask him out for drinks after work. Since we talked for hours at the bar. Since I first felt his kisses... among other things.
Two weeks. That's all it's taken for this feeling of familarity, of comfort, of home to take place. A younger version of me would be frightened by how quick this is all taking place, but the 32 year old me is frightened for another reason.
Two weeks. Time that brings me closer to the end of the year where the chances of things changing drastically are more real. When Peter's contract could be up and he heads off to a new assignment, in a new state. Where I won't be able to see his blue eyes watching me. Where I won't be able to hear his laugh when I send him some risque IM message. Where I won't be able to feel his arms around me at night.
Time is my enemy and I will fight Him off as long as I can.
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