Holding tight to his hand, feeling the bed dip underneath me as I lay and then him beside me, our hands our only contact. His bed, not mine. I would not dare to take him to mine. I look to him and he is smiling at me, although underneath it all for all my inexperience, I can see the hesitance and the burden that crumples his forehead.
He said to me not to feel I had to quite yet, but it is me that has brought us here. I remember the resolution that took me to him, the look on his face when I took his hand and the relief that rushed through me when he kissed me knowing where I was leading him. Every second that I have known him, every instant of my life, has all taken us to here and now. It's that final step to me becoming whole; those final moments arrive to eradicate my past as I feel his lips fleetingly touch my cheek.
Time is ticking interminably slowly but I want it to. I want it to stop to let me cherish every feeling that is coursing through me, whether it is love, a desperate yearning to feel alive or the clutches of trepidation now that I lie here. I want to capture that forever, encase that look of reverence I can see in his eyes into my memory for the rest of my days.
There is nobody and nothing here. The world outside this building no longer exists for this time I spend with him. I cannot see anything but him, cannot hear anything but the sound of my own heartbeat, but I feel every single touch of his fingertips on my bare arms as they drift up and down my skin in the lightest of caresses. I am chilly in anticipation of what is to happen and I want to slide underneath the sheets, drown myself in warmth but I stay atop the bedclothes for now. I will no longer hide behind the shackles of the past. I have left fear at the door, I have left worry in the street and I will take this love with me with each step that I tread.
For I know that finally I am loved and that one person, that I did not realise was waiting for me, is here and it will be wonderful.