you’re more than you’re letting yourself be, he says, quiet, but certain.
your hands shake and you call it weakness. trust is a faraway thing for anyone, even the ones you’ve known for years. you’re scared; of hurting, of being hurt.
he isn’t scared of anything, or so you thought once upon a time.
you’ve learned he’s scared of being alone, but nowadays what he seems the most scared of is losing you and that those aren’t necessarily the same things.
you don’t understand the way he clutches your hand the way he cradles your cheek looks at you like you didn’t rip him apart. like you somehow have power over him.
i’m sorry is a constant message in his hands, pressed against your own handing you water fingers sliding gently across yours.
you don’t understand and clearly he doesn’t either. but when he leans up, (he is shorter than you and you are always surprised) and cradles your face it doesn’t matter that you don’t understand. it doesn’t matter that there are things you’re both working out.
he presses his mouth to your damaged one and you have never been so afraid. but as the nervous moment leads to nervous laughter you think that maybe sometimes being afraid is okay.
as long as he’s with you, you know that being afraid and being in danger aren’t the same things anymore.
– he promised to keep you safe, and you believe him, l.b.
