I know as soon as the sun shines through these windows, I have to leave.

I know that soon I’ll be without the caress of her hand, the angles of her body, the sheen of her sweat as she lay across my chest.

There’s things that I won’t miss, of course. Her slightly jagged fingernails, the ugly fuscia lipstick that stains the rims of coffee cups, the wet towel she leaves on the floor after every shower. The way she insists on correcting me every time my grammar is slightly off, or the way she gets in my face when I pack the dishwasher wrong.

She likes to slap me, when I’ve said something especially rotten. She brings out the worst in me, that evil seed that lies beneath, no matter how much I try to push it down.

We burn too bright. We engulf each other. I feel the licks of her flames across my skin, and I know she feels the same from me. Our kingdom has turned to ashes, right below our feet, and we’ve been too entrapped in the warmth of each other to notice.

I watch her as she sleeps. My eyes trace the dark lashes that fan her freckled cheeks, the perfect angles of her eyebrows and sharpness of her jaw, pointy elbows that dig into my ribs, hips that press into my own. Every inch of her is firm and stubborn by design, as if every one of her features was crafted to make her hard to infiltrate.

Yet I know, when her deep breath warms my skin like this, that I’ve done it. I’ve wormed my way in through a crack forgotten by the gods that made her; and burrowed in where it’s tender enough to hurt.

I know the ache will worsen before it gets better. I know she’ll feel the loss of me, the same way I will feel the loss of her. I will long for her weight on top of me, for the sting of her slap and the scratch of her nails. For the tender words she says only to me, and the insults she directs only at me.

She will miss me, too. Until she doesn’t.

I will free her of the burden of us. Of the pain that we have become too accustomed to, the pain that feels like home.

I will spend the rest of my life, wishing that I were strong enough to withstand it. That I were strong enough to feel the weight of love without letting it crush me.

I will spend the rest of my life asking myself ‘what if I stayed?’, while also thanking god that I got out when I did.

When the sun comes up, I promise myself that I will leave her.

When the sun comes up.