Being with him was a special kind of perfect.
It was laughter and whispers and comfort.
It was the first sip of coffee in the morning.
It was the sun shining through a cloud.
It was the sound of a child's laughter.
It was the perfect temperature.
It was deep breaths and carefree silences.
It was the smell of his tshirt; cigarettes and sweat and an aftershave with a name he couldn't remember.
It was the feel of his hand in mine, back to front, with his fingers curled into my palm.
It was every kiss. Each one a perfect little piece of history.
It was the vulnerability and stimulation and the mattress with no sheets.
Both old and new at the same time.
It was the orange wall and the stolen drinks and the minutes that passed and the sunrise on the roof .
It was everything I wanted. Exactly how I wanted it. But a million times better.