Just a little something that came to me about Maura's spare bedroom. Happy Monday night!
It is in your spare bedroom that I feel home.
Well, that's a lie. Home is with you. However, I'll take whatever I can get if it means I can be closer to you. It's within that spare bedroom that I'm comforted knowing that you're there.
It makes me smile to hear you wandering around the kitchen, offering Bass strawberries that you picked up fresh from the store, just for him. It's in the spare bedroom, that I can hear every sigh, every noise, every single breath that you take and that comforts me.
Of course, I am comforted to know that when I stay in your spare room, that I know you'll come in to comfort me. You'll lay down beside me and I'll crack a smile trying to resist the urge to ask whether or not it's a sleepover, or some hidden attraction to me that brought you in, and you'll only smile back at me.
To me, it never gets old. I hope, that it never gets old for you either.
Sometimes I wonder if you feel the way I flinch when you touch my arm. It's not because I hate your touch, but rather, because I am both surprised and over joyed every single time you touch my arm. Sometimes, I lay there and wait, resisting the urge for you to touch me, just once as we lay there.
We never have to talk either. I just enjoy laying beside you. I just enjoy knowing that you're there. I like knowing that I'm not sleeping alone in some cold, empty apartment. When I get off work, I want to see someone, anyone that isn't my mother telling me that I need to quit my job and come home to my stupid pink canopy bed. I imagine telling you on several occasions how I dreamed of burning that thing, but I'll save that for another time.
It's in your spare bedroom, where I lay after you've gone to bed staring at the ceiling. I rarely sleep when I stay at your house. I think. Some people might question whether or not Jane Rizzoli thinks, but, let me tell you. I do. I do think. A lot.
I think about touching you, holding you, and waking up to your beatiful smile every morning.
It's in your spare bedroom where I yearn for you the most. Sometimes I wonder if you're thinking of me in your room. Sometimes I imagine you're doing the same thing I am, staring at your ceiling. However, with you, you're probably thinking about all the techincal names for the stars and constellations that are just beyond your vision.
Suddenly, this makes me sad. I realize, that I, plain ole Jane Rizzoli could never match you. I couldn't completely fill your world with the things that you enjoy the most. I'd never understand anything you ever spoke of.
It's in your spare bedroom, that I am both overjoyed, and deeply saddened. It's in your spare bedroom where I curl up and fall asleep with lovely thoughts of you.