For a long time, the two of us have lived a nameless life.
An existence that seems to fit only between different boxes and labels, but inside none of them.
In the restless stirring of morning, as the sun spills unabashedly through your wide open windows, and I kiss your face every time I turn in my sleep to reposition myself, I feel like maybe right now, right here I might belong to you.
Not later, once we've dressed and eaten and stepped back out into the real world, with our real names and real lives. I don't ever seem to belong to you then.
Then I am just a girl.
A girl who knows you but is forever at a comfortable distance.
A girl who knows you but shouldn't ever let on to how well.
A girl who is indistinguishable from any other.
But here, here in the place where sleep is slowly retreating but wakefulness hasn't completely arrived,
Here where the morning is yawning open but the day has yet to really begin,
Here where we can still be tangled together like the sheets, like the ancient roots of trees, like all the ties that keep us together made from all the unspeakable things,
Here I can be yours and you can be mine.
And there won't be any pictures or any proof,
Any marks across your neck or promises made that we'll have to live up to in front of anyone else.
Just the memory of the words, and the remnants of our dreams, and the space below my shoulder where you kiss me and bury your face when you don't want to be awake yet
So no one but us will ever know.
Maybe I can belong to you here.