His hands in my hair, on my hips, his mouth on mine. I am falling. He catches me, lays me down. Then picks me up and spins me until I fall again. I am at his mercy but he has plenty to spare. Why is he so gentle, a once-wild wolf who considers me one of his pack? I suppose I am. I am.

Things are complicated. I want to play, to feel different hands and hear different words. I want to lose myself in the novelty of it all, carve an escape out of my own head using others as knives, an hour at a time. Alone, my chest feels empty, but I only miss it in his company. He deserves better than I can give him, maybe. But maybe not.

He wants me for his own, but more than anything else, wants me. He says I feel like home, and as sometimes seems to happen, I find I can't leave him. I don't want to stray, I want to lose myself in the two of us without looking back. He hasn't betrayed me yet, and maybe he never will. That means something. Each day it feels a little more important.

I crawl around in his head looking for trouble but he is me — at least enough of me for everything to feel safe, anyway. As I keep my promises, he'll keep his. Fear was my habit, but we are different the way I need us to be different while still being similar enough. Without games, without lies, without fire, I am being reborn in his arms in the possibility that our pairing betters both of us, and not just me.

And maybe we’ll part and stay friends and maybe we’ll have beautiful babies together and maybe I’ll find myself in a life I never imagined (and still haven’t). Anything could happen. But in this new season, my greatest blessing is that I am relatively unafraid of what the future holds. I am free, and for the moment I am not scared. On the horizon, I see something that could be my home too, one day.

I am.