miss you already

We close the door. The lights are out but the sunlight is filtering in through the windows. I open the widow letting in the fresh air. I reach for the light but she stops me.
"Leave them off," she says, "I like the dark better." It's not meant to be taken sexually, at least not as I can tell, but with her you never know. That's one thing about her that I find intriguing. She's mostly very silly, but she can be serious and I love talking with her about ust life in general.
I'm sitting at my laptop, about to play some music, with guitar in hand.
"Are you going to come sit with me?" She asks. She tilts her head, inclined only ever so slightly. She looks at me and I look back, my fingers flicking across the keyboard shutting down programs that were running seconds before. I put it to sleep and turn to face her.
"If you want me to," I say, moving over to the bed. I sit down. She's facing me, hands curled up under her head, knees tucked into her body. I sit at the foot of he bed and look at her, rub her leg and squeeze to let her know I'm there.
"Whatcha thinking?"
"Um...I don't know." I answer, but most of the time I'm thinking the same thing. Thinking about the light reflecting off her face, how her hair shines a dark black with silver streaks from the sun. I crawl over her body. She turns to face upwards and looks me in the eye. I ease myself down so I'm resting on her. I lower my head to kiss her. She responds and our lips touch, soft kisses, brushing across each other one last time before engaging a more passionate, but not necessarily aggressive kiss. Hy hands cup her head, one finger caressing her ear lobe and tracing the length of her ear, down her jaw-line and to the nape of her neck, where, I make my way back up taking the longer route and stopping by her perfect shoulder. White and delicate, they are soft and seem to shine with an inner glow. She really doesn't brag about them enough. I kiss her neck. Make my way slowly to her shoulders and kiss each one while dragging my hand along the length of her arm. I know it feels good, I do it to myself at night--one arm in the air, the other moving up and down with just the finger tip touching-- it's a tingling sensation, one that makes you gasp with pleasant surprise. I get the small intake of air and I know I'm doing it fine. It's barely audible, yet my ears catch it and it tells me that I don't have to do much more, I already have her. I make my way up to her face again. She turns quickly and we start a more aggressive kiss. My heart races faster and I notice every detail. The smell of her hair, sweet as perfume, and her skin, as soft as silk. I peak through closed eyes and see she herlf has her eyes closed. It seems she is also trying to take in the moment. We are both trying to keep the memory of this moment. Or at least I am, treasuiring every moment I have with her for when I am gone for a month in the summer. I'm going to miss her so much I feel as if my heart will burst. I'll write every day, or as often as I can, and I'll mean every word that I say, every time I write "I love you, wish you were here," it's a written form of my tears shed for the heart ache we will endure.
We pause in our heat, stopping to take breath from our lust.
"What are you thinking now?" She asks again.
"I love you," I say. I mean every word.