“I think, if you can inspire all this insight after just ten minutes of meditation, I really should have let you be.”

“Well, I keep telling you how much you’d benefit from it,” Logan smiles, walking over to my chair. “You don’t even have to do TM.”

I smile at Logan in the absent way I always do when he tries to get me to meditate. The part I’ve never told him—or anyone, for that matter—is that I’ve developed my own practice. The first half of my journal is filled with the most meaningful quotes and wisdom I’ve come across. I copy this section and add to it in every iteration of my journal, like my own custom Bible. Most mornings, before I get out of bed, I make sure to read a portion to center myself.

“Well, I can think of a few mind-clearing ways to spend those last ten minutes,” I say, hooking my arm around Logan’s waist.

I know I should focus on finding clues for the missing Prince. I know I shouldn’t be purposefully dodging Logan’s spiritual-prodding question. However, I also know my time to spend uninterrupted with him is running out. So instead, I pull him close.

I just hold Logan for now. Being intimate doesn’t always have to mean sex.

Click here

I kiss Logan. We’re definitely putting those ten minutes to good use.

Click here

There would be nothing wrong about getting physical with my loving, committed boyfriend—I’ve untangled enough of my Catholic guilt to know that much. It’s just, every so often, I like reminding my body that my mind is the one really in charge. Besides, sometimes I feel closest to Logan when we’re doing nothing at all.

And sometimes delaying the things we want makes them so much better. Logan and I do have this room to ourselves all night, after all. Why spend ten minutes now on something that could take much longer later?

I stand and wrap my arms around Logan, my hands gripping the warm skin of his back. It still causes me physical pain, the thought of living across the country to go to Penn while Logan stays here to go to UCLA. At least I’ll be able to persuade my parents to cover some extra flights home during breaks so we can see each other, but every part of me is terrified of this looming separation.

I’m reminded of this as Logan nestles his face into my neck and takes a deep breath. He has never said it out loud, but I can tell he loves the way I smell. Sometimes it’s like he can’t get enough.

I know the feeling.

“Love you,” I whisper in his ear.

“Love you, too,” he says back.