Put Yourself in my Shoes

The door cracks loudly against my left ear and your footsteps welcome themselves home. Your coat rests on the highest hook of our hanging rack and the droplets of the rain kiss the tip of your shoes. The hair on the sides of your face, the hair that hides your lengthy forehead, clings stickily to your skin.  

My hands trap the doorknob selfishly as I want to keep this moment for myself. My heart drops slightly, partly because of you, or because my eyes grow jealous of the air that has caressed your face while you were making your way home, your way home to me. The sigh that escapes your lips fills me with an insensitive joy as it makes me feel like you need me. And I need you too.  

Your shirt stains mine with water and your fingers shock me as they reach for the dimples on my back. The bridge of your nose rests on the muscles of my neck, my hands reaching to finally touch the sides of your face. My heart speaks to you, and you tell me there is a bag of groceries in the back seat of your car.  

I slip on your shoes, the pair you wear when dinner is warm, and my arms wrap around your neck to kiss your left cheek.  

The door cracks loudly against my right ear this time, my ankles feeling the pecks of the dropping rain. I hurry to your car, reaching for the paper bag that dampens as I embark back from my journey. My eyes find reassurance when they see your silhouette expecting me.  

We both forget an umbrella, but we never forget to come home to each other.