I dread holding her hand. I’m the happiest I’ve ever been, she makes me smile like no-one else can, kissing her is the literal equivalent of heaven, and I dread holding her hand. When we walk, hand in hand, smiling and laughing like the schoolgirls we are, they watch. They watch and they whisper and once a lady even pointed, her nose turned up, lip raised ever so slightly to reveal the sharps of her teeth, a hard word on the tip of her tongue as she whispered it to her friend. I wish it was all in my head - just my imagination going wild about some kind of perversion they might have. It’s not, it’s all too real. When I hold her hand they don’t see two kids blindly in love, they see a political statement, a perversion exposed to their children, pornography playing out before their very eyes. They see slick skin and breasts and hear faux breathy moans that play from their screens, they don’t see us. They don’t see the way she makes me laugh or the gentle flush of her cheeks when I kiss her forehead. They see sickness, I see life. I dread holding her hand because a man approached us only a few days ago and sneered. He cornered us as we were trying to cross the road and got close, so close that I could see the colour of his eyes and the snarl on his lips. He kept throwing around words like “sinner” and “repent.” We were just trying to get home. I dread holding her hand because people roll their eyes at our silly little phase and yet the five-year-olds holding hands are ooh-ed and aww-ed over. She kisses me and the world stops. Fires begin and lives stop, all to look at us. The fire is inside and it’s the only thing that burns brighter than her eyes, setting alight to everything within our scorched reach. They think our love can bring down civilisation, topple empires and they’re right. In our kiss is the antichrist and the messiah all at once, destroying and recreating a world where only the two of us exist. I live in this world until I can’t, a world where oxygen doesn’t exist and the beating of my heart is fuelled by her and her alone. But like the messiah our world only lasts for so long and is scorched by a crowd of heathens claiming us to be the heretics that will bring about the end. Maybe we will, but if that’s so then perhaps the world always deserved to burn for why should a world where I dread holding her hand survive?
kianamaiart
origamiaround
dededos
stormborns
dailybridgerton
