I will be home

I was watching the curtain gently moving in the early morning wind, the birds having their lively conversations in a neighbourhood slowly awakening to the new day. I was not sure what woke me so early this morning, but as the sleepiness slowly drifted away, I realised, this is it. It is the last weekend before leaving, and I will only be back in a month's time.

I am exchanging the summer for winter, the southern hemisphere for the northern, long warm days for short dark and cold days, being barefoot and sleeveless for shoes and coats, bright blue sunny skies for grey clouds and rain, but I am going home.

In a short few days, I will hear his voice, the vibrations against my ear, the thud of his heartbeat, the gentle movement of his breathing, as I rest my head against his chest.

I will be home.

I will hear our laughter, our teasing, our conversations, and our disagreements, no longer interrupted by the failure of technology and no sad moments of missed opportunities.

I will be home.

I will feel myself become softer, pliant and gentle, the becoming of me, as I submit to him willingly.

I will be home.

I will revel in the safety and protection as I am pulled into the safety of his arms, into his life.

I will be home.

I will snuggle up against him, with his hand gentle, no longer hard and punishing but lying protective over my burning bottom, allowing me to cry the tears so long in the making. I will hear his reassuring voice gently whispering, the vibrations against my ear, the thud of his heartbeat, the gentle movement of his breathing, and I will know that I am home.