Her arms

Perfect moments are never how I imagine them. I imagine the best patisserie and coffee France has to offer; I imagine a jazz bar, humming softly in the night as Paris comes alive; I imagine eating a crepe under the stars, feeling like the only people here in this crazy city. The reality is that none of this can ever compare to what I feel in your arms. Warmth, love, safety. I am secure in your arms. I’m no longer an adult with responsibilities but a kid closing my eyes and breathing in your cotton jumper – the only time I truly feel safe. The police walk the streets, and my brown skin burns dark and proud, waiting, each time they pass, for them to come for me. But here in your arms, that all fades away. Here in your arms, I am safe, I am loved, I am here. And I realise that I can’t die because dying would mean leaving you here alone, and I can’t do that. You made me the person I am today. You loved me and you believed in me. And so, the least I can do is live for you when I don’t feel like I can live for myself. You’re far but you’re close and nothing can change that. No amount of distance can ever change that. With each blink, I see the world with you in it. I see you in the vapour trails streaking pink along the sky; I hear your breaths beside me as I run; I smell you in the masala as I cook. I could not be here without you. You save me time and time again and it’s my turn.