IN BETWEEN STORIES.
voices have grown deep, complex like. strong silences speaking sweeter nothings than reason had intended to. he kisses me, softly, as i sit on the couch daydreaming what it would be like to paint in his living room. all of these windows, speaking in octaves my heart had grown deaf to. the light shining in, dancing in circles as if parading my vision of want tos, have yous, will yous, slowly losing myself within the moment of you.
the scruff of his beard comforts the soft edges i have learned to appreciate. love, even. as he leans over my silhouette, wrapped in a towel from running late, to simply acknowledge my being there. gentle, yet poignant like. ensuring my importance be known. claiming this foundation he's become of a strong man, not afraid to soften his exterior.