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We are so many things to one another now, and I love them all. We are best friends, we are business partners, and we are co-parents.

We have built a life together over decades and it’s given me more fulfilment than I ever could have imagined. There is nothing I don’t know about her. I have explored every story in her past, lived through every moment of her present and I know every minute that she has planned for the future.

It’s a level of intimacy and friendship that I know is beyond most.

But sometimes—maybe more than sometimes—it can be easy to forget we are also lovers. It can be easy to forget how we used to claw at each other, devour each other, and obsess over one another. It can be easy to forget to work on the things that never needed work in the beginning.

She used to be the unattainable Polish girl I yearned for from the back of the lecture hall. The one I stared at when I should have been taking notes when she was unaware of my existence. The first time I spoke to her I got my name wrong—somehow switching my first and middle names—and thankfully she found it endearing. When I first touched her hand I panicked that my palms would be too sweaty and it was only later I found out she worried about the same thing.

We spent most of those university years screwing. She was never close enough and I never got my fill of her. I wanted to eat her alive and thank god I couldn’t because there was only one of her and I wanted to consume her over and over and over again.

Back then we didn’t need to make space. Back then we didn’t have to make time. Now we have so little of both.

But I still want to eat her alive.