I didn't realize that we hadn't spent more than four days apart until we did.
I was a half an hour late due to the crazy-amazing foot massage (ask for John) I desperately needed after walking twenty miles in two days.
I couldn't wait, I couldn't wait to see him, so I started running along Broadway, dodging slow-moving tourists and quick-moving New Yorkers.
I couldn't keep away from him after so many days apart, followed him around the apartment like a puppy, touching him, kissing him, feeling him feeling me, so happy, so whole again.
I can have my life. I can have my weekends with my girlfriends, eating spiked brownies, laughing and giggling and getting lost in a crowded city.
But even the warmest bed is too cold without him in it.
