I wanted to be the scent on your skin, overpowering the Old Spice soap bar and the reason your lips ache the next day. I wanted to be brighter than the sun when you open the curtains and as graceful as the dust that falls onto your radiator. I wanted to be the one who traced the lines of your faded tattoo and fixed your necklace whenever it reversed. One night you whispered to me, “You are beautiful,” and all I heard was, “It’s you, it’s you. It’s you.” The next time, you asked, “Are you seeing someone new?” And all I wanted to say was, “It’ you. It’s you. It’s still you.”
Stories I’ll tell one day #93 – Ming D. Liu (via mingdliu)














