I've been thinking about Valentine's Day and all of those that are near us, or not as near as we would like. I've always loved Valentine's Day because it was something that we celebrated as a family; my father bringing home stuffed animals and mountains of chocolate, fostering addictions to food and attention that none of us would ever grow out of. Right now Travis is watching Will & Grace while I prepare this post; in a few moments we'll be headed to the park to take photos and wander around. The sun is shining outside and every once in a while a breeze floats in. Here's hoping that your day is just as warm, and that you feel as loved as that. Happy Valentine's Day.
More from the Village Voice love letters.
Dear Ben,
I miss you so much and I think about living with you all the time—lately it's been the idea of sharing a bed, the idea that no matter how busy our days are, we'll get to sleep next to each other every night. I got used to it when we lived in San Francisco, but now I think about waking up in the middle of the night beside your body, snuggling up to you after a bad dream or resting just a fingertip on your shoulder when it was hot.
Maybe some days we'll set the alarm early and snuggle half-awake, maybe some nights we'll stay up late to make love in the dark. Other times we'll sleep like we're dead, but our bodies will know we're near each other and sleep the better for it. Going to bed is when I miss you most, when it's easiest to pretend you're there—close my eyes and feel your chest pressing against my back and your arm wrapping around me. When we first started sleeping together you used to push down on my head with your chin, our knees and elbows were always in the wrong place, I never felt comfortable relaxing the weight of my head into your arm. But now we fit together like puzzle pieces, and that's one thing we've never forgotten. However mad or unhappy we are, we can always share a bed, whether it be above the kitchen in a rickety college house, two mattresses on the floor of your dorm room, the tiny bed that seemed all springs at the little inn where we arrived at 10 to be the only guests, facing away from each other in sleeping bags on your friend's roommate's bed in L.A. . . . . There's nothing like sleeping next to you.
Love, Helen
