Montreal is slowly seeping back into my bones, with every proven�al shop on St-Denis street I realize how much of the french countryside remains here...
...and the rest is flou.
I know that the moment I touch french earth again I will be wondering about the promises that I have been making to myself here, I know that I will look at the months ahead of me and wonder if after all I wanted them to become years.
An irish pub, the cherry of a hundred giggles passed between frozen fingers, bison burgers and that fullness of laughter still ebbing in my chest from an hour of insanities and inantities at cf's heavy wooden kitchen table, the smokiness of darjeeling tea flavouring raucous puns and clever guffaws.
Yes, I thought they were clever.
The best and worst of it though, was entirely in David's arms. Waking up besides him on Monday morning before sneaking into the madness that was this parental place, as well as sneaking into his bed after the pub last night, only to catch my breath on the perfect curve of his shoulder before sneaking out again, having tucked his perfect smile in for the night.
I don't know what I want just now, and for the first time in years, am terrified.
Terrified, and so filled with the sheer wonder of remembering his sweet scent and the way he interrupted confused tears with a low growl of "I'm going to make love to you now."
The next months will be madness and terror and I am looking forward to seeing what will result.
For now, I am glowing the the beauty of the terror.