I crawl into the bed and tightly wrap the grey, abstract designed duvet around me. I feel like I’m floating on a cloud. I hear his voice from another room in the meticulously cleaned apartment. “Where are you?” he asked excitedly. “Where I always am” I shouted gently. His footsteps keep getting closer as I lay comfortably in his bed. I suddenly feel his right arm slide under my neck and his left arm stretch around my torso.
We start to talk about how our day went. This is the most familiar part of our daily conversation. Even though we babble about the tediousness of work life and student life; we make it a point to discover something new that each day brings. I turn around and face him, while he still has his arms wrapped around me, even tighter than the duvet. I feel peaceful and safe when he holds me close. His big brown eyes staring in my green eyes, he lets out all of his thoughts. I make sure to listen intently as to not miss a single word. Sometimes he just needs me to listen. He isn’t asking for advice or some cliché response, rather an open mind and heart that is willing to hear what he has going on in his mind.
Once he finishes, I continue to be engulfed in long, dark arms. Now it is my turn. I share with him about how my mind is constantly moving; like a toddler who has just learned how to walk for the first time. Battling with Major Depressive Disorder, he doesn’t understand what it is like, but he is also willing to hear what is running through my mind and to accept me regardless of what the mental illness brings to the table. He continues to stare straight into my eyes as I speak, assuring me that he is interested in everything I have to share. I feel at peace again. I can be myself. He can be himself. We lay together for hours in his bed exchanging thoughts, feelings and unconditional love.
Whenever he holds me, I am home. Being in his presence. We could be in his apartment, we could be sitting on a park bench, or be sitting in his car on the top of a hill gazing at the stars at midnight, and it would not matter. I am home, whenever his touch penetrates my being. It doesn’t matter how long or how short. We could be in Canada, we could be in Togo. I can be pink, he can be brown. He can speak French, I can speak English. No matter our differences, home is wherever he holds me.