Savor It

by Tarah DeWitt

It’s a beautiful life, and though I am alone, between the people I love and the pets I continue to collect, I am rarely lonely.

And every time we meet, I find myself stirred by a strange mix of familiarity and mystery in him, like he’s a puzzle I’d love to solve.

“What if I don’t like it quick, Sage?” I ask, rapt on her reaction. “What if I prefer to savor things. Want it good and slow and drawn out?”

“I want to make sure you like everything.”

“That’s my favorite one so far,” he says. He points using his chin somewhere near my chest before he turns and starts back toward his place. I look down at my robe and groan. It’s covered in canoes, with an emblem on one side over the chest, two paddles crossed over each other, and text that states, HAPPIEST WHEN WET.

this woman carries hers in her fist, ready to hand it off at any given time.

nipping gently at my lips like he’s savoring me.

And instead of hard or hasty, I end up wanting to draw it out, to stave off the inevitable and savor it as much as I can again.

He comes to kneel before me. “I’m in too deep, Sage,” he rasps, voice thick.

Love is this. Love is breathing. A sweet, deep, aching relief. And it’s somehow even more disorienting.

Because it’s her, everything in me says. It’s Sage.

I’ve never been more exhausted, but it’s a few more hours together to savor.

I can’t imagine not having him and feeling like I’m continually losing him, over and over.

“I fell in love with you, and with this place, and it should’ve been enough to make me stay.

I spot the tattoo on the inside of her elbow, a canoe spilling over with flowers. I got my own version the same day on my forearm: a whisk and a spatula in place of paddles.

I plan to savor every bit of it.