the warmth

It was already dark outside when I returned home. I was extremely tired but the thinking that he'd be inside waiting for me, had carved a smile on my face. So I opened the door very slowly, as if the serenity would break had I created loud noises and then he'd run to the door just to find me.I took my shoes off, gently, then with my socks still on, tip-toeing to the kitchen nearby to wash my face. I had wanted to always look fresh and lively when with him. 

He was reading by the fireplace in our small library, the smooth carpet and a moderately big sofa just in the middle had made the room cozy and comfortable. For a moment I stood still, couldn't decide the source of the warmth radiating from the room: is it him or the yellowish reading light? I hugged his shoulder and he greeted me while putting his book away. It was a book by Kafka, the one that he had spent almost forever to look for. 

 

'How are you?' He said, lightly kissed me. 

'Tired,' I said, walking around the sofa and sat beside him.

He smiled, 'Come,' he patted his laps, to which then I lied my head down. 

'I miss you,' he said again, his hand caressing my hair. I sometimes still found myself quite amazed by his small gesture despite the years being together. I looked at him again very closely, and this time he returned my gaze. There was this peaceful serenity again, and it was as if nothing else mattered. It was like there's this warm blanket covering us, that I was safe in his arms, and that we could forget the rest of the world for a while. And more importantly, that we had each other for God-knows how long.

 

'I miss you too,' saying that more to myself as I know he would have known already.  And that precise moment, I know that the warmth was radiating from him.