Jan 31, 2018
People tell me love is nothing to write home about. But all I want to do is write about home and you, and how the word "ours", never fit in my mouth quite right until you breathed it against my lips one night. Tucked safely in the cradle of my hips, rocking the headboard knocking into the wall of our new apartment. Ours. People say they don't need a happy ending, another silly love song. But how can I believe that when the world is still so cruel, yet just last night I watched your lips part softly on a sigh and felt you tangle your cold ankles with mine as you slept, and swore I'd never felt more grateful, more loved, more alive. Isn't that a story worth telling? A story worth hearing? Ours?
D.O, Something Great Pt.I
