I'm aching to walk up to him, wrap my arms around his waist and rest my head on his chest. We would hold each other like that every day and I told him more than once that my favorite place in the whole world was there, in his arms.
Nothing else could make me feel so safe, accepted and loved. It was my favorite thing.
I once left him a love note saying "I love your hugs more than Ben and Jerry's choc chip cookie dough ice cream, Foo Fighters concerts, sleeping in and piña coladas on the beach in Bali".
When we'd go to bed we had established the perfect cuddle position where my head tucked in under his chin and I'd soak in the smell of his after shave or his skin. Even when his three-day growth scratched my forehead I wouldn't care, I was that happy.
Every night we'd lay like this and talk about our day and our plans and hopes for tomorrow. We did it the night before he died and he was his beautiful, content self.
Fuck you depression, for wrapping your cold, dark arms around him and taking him from me that next morning. Fuck you.
I miss him so Goddam much. What I wouldn't give to be in his arms again.
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