âI can let everything go when you touch me.â
I look you in the eyes when i whisper those words.  Reverently I tell you ,âThose words that only have every crossed my lips with you. I swear on every rib in my body that those words have only collected air from my lungs, wrapped around my touge and been heard by your ears. â
âOh,â you say. on an exhale of breath. your hands warm, starting at my ankle and gently graing between my calves and onto my other leg. âYouâre quite the romantic.â you follow up the noise.Â
I close my eyes and tilt my head back againt the bed. âOf course I am, canât you tell?â Iift my hand to fiddle with the hem of my shirt. Your shirt. Oversized but having fallen as high on my thighs as it could have. Then I lift both my hands making a small flutter, dismissive and telling.Â
âItâs like humidityâ I smirk âclinging to meâ.Â
âI love when you use similesâ you say, sweeping your other hand across your chest, then into your pockets as you leaned againt the wall.Â
I roll my eyes and try to make light of the way my chest constricts, youâre wrapped around me. Like romance, like the sickly sweet summer heat, like saddness some days, like the way my sheets smell of you the next day. Heady and masculine.
 âWhat do you want?â
I laugh and your head turns and something in your eyes flash. Hurt? Humor? Iâm too far, your fingers thrum againt my calf musicle.Â
âItâs much safer to ask me what I donât want.â Fisting my hands to keep from reaching out to you. I want to tell you I donât want you so far away, that I donât want you to leave, but that doesnât do us any good at all. At least not yet. I think.Â
But you know that better than anyone. You know hurt. And you see it in me. And you know how I hate crumbling under your gaze, because you touch me and I can let everything go.Â
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