You know, I could sit here all night, letting the whiskey burn slow, listening to the wind push against the window, thinking about a thousand things that don’t matter nearly as much as the one thing that does. You. Standing over there, just out of reach, looking at me like you already know how this ends but want to hear me say it anyway.

And I will.

Because the way that light catches in your hair, the way your skin shivers just slightly from the cool air, the way your lips part like you’ve got something clever to say but aren’t sure if it’s worth breaking the moment—darlin’, I don’t need poetry, philosophy, or the mysteries of the cosmos to tell me what I already know.

The night’s too long, the bed’s too empty, and I can’t think of a single damn reason why you shouldn’t be here instead of there.

So come on. Walk over here, slide under these sheets, and let’s forget about the rest of the world for a while. Let it wait. Let it turn without us.

Because right now, it’s just you and me. And I promise you, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.