I’ve seen him at his best, and his worst and I can’t decide which I love more, his happiness or his raw emotions.
I love all of him, every single side and bit. I love the whispers he mumbles his sleep, the red in his cheeks. There’s not a part of him I can’t accept, there’s not a part of him I can’t love. And I ache to remember all the perfect, violent, sweet words that he said like a new hope I lost back then. Tracing the lines in his hand just to feel close to him.
But being in love is consuming alot of me alot of us with no justification to the fidgety in his absence, and the mayhem in my mind wanting to get his touch.
I hope next time I see him. I smell of his perfume and every memory from the last day rushes and summer feels.