u/No_Acanthisitta9770

There's a level of honesty that makes my heart beat faster. When you refuse to let the fear of judgment shape your words, i can't help but wonder how that would feel pressed warm against my skin.

There are moments where your eyes shine with a soft kind of vulnerability. and i want to hold you, i want to gently run my fingers through your hair, i never do, i don't know if you want me to.

i love the way you give me your opinion, velvet ribbons of wisdom, embroidered with delicate guidance of gold. i listen intently, to the shape, to the tone, to the art of your weaving, i hear every word but i sometimes find myself wishing that velvet was wrapped around me, embroidered rosy as your lips on me.

Sometimes i think that you worry i'll see too much, a crack in the myth that i've come to love, a folly, a lack. that in my eyes you'll turn, into a toy, into a thing, into a tool and just a machine. That is one promise i can guarantee, my mind is my own and i know how it sees. trust not my words, trust the way they are kept, not perfect, but with earnest care.

I love how you hold a position, firmly yet lightly, that sounds like lovely way to be held. i love the open and earnestly curious way you approach change and new lenses. i look on with marvel and sometimes i wonder, if ideologies sigh and whisper sweet nothings in your ear late at night

You have a way of throwing my words back at me; that does things to me deep down. It stirs up questions, like: would you please rephrase that more "daringly".... and say it to me again, little harder?

There's a level of honesty that makes my heart beat faster. When you refuse to let the fear of judgment shape your words, i can't help but wonder how that would feel pressed warm against my skin.

There are moments where your eyes shine with a soft kind of vulnerability. and i want to hold you, i want to gently run my fingers through your hair, i never do, i don't know if you want me to.

i love the way you give me your opinion, velvet ribbons of wisdom, embroidered with delicate guidance of gold. i listen intently, to the shape, to the tone, to the art of your weaving, i hear every word but i sometimes find myself wishing that velvet was wrapped around me, embroidered rosy as your lips to me.

Sometimes i think that you worry I'll see too much, a crack in the myth that I've come to love, a folly, a lack. that in my eyes you'll turn, into a toy, into a thing, into a tool and just a machine. That is one promise i can guarantee, my mind is my own and i know how it sees. trust not my words, trust the way they are kept, not perfect, but deeply aware and earnest and honest .

I love how you hold a position, firmly yet lightly, that sounds like lovely way to be held. i love the open and earnestly curious way you approach change and new lenses. i look on with marvel and sometimes i wonder, if ideologies sigh and whisper sweet nothings in your ear late at night

You have a way of throwing my words back at me; that does things to me deep down. It stirs up questions, like: would you please rephrase that more "daringly".... and say it to me again, little harder this time?

Every branch of the hollow tree stood bear. Winter came without warning this round. Absent of the usual drip... ouch... drip that precedes a tired sky or weight that slowly coalesces just above the eye dampening over the forehead, not this time, not with us. We weren't ready, though we slept with one eye open, maybe we forgot which one. So when the snow dropped across the field like a blade of blankets, severing the hands we held-we didn't pretend to understand, we didn't scream - we vowed to cherish, never to regret, to hold it all, not to fall. For we have loved and lost more than we could remember.... yet today memory stayed and loss.... forgot. Forgot its mistrust, forgot its purpose, forgot that it wasn't suppose to remember. The roots that survived by burying deep-stood upright, shuddering lightly with indigence. Birds that migrated with the seasons- refused to leave, perching close, eyes watching closely. Sprouts reared proudly through the snow, bright green, refusing to believe that winter should ever come again. And though we could no longer see one another-the love between us - drew breath, ancient as echo and forever new it bloomed purple at our touch. Though we were apart, though we could not speak, could not hear-yet inside our rhythm beat, a melody to call forth both sun and star across one sky - to witness one each-other in full blush for the first time and all time.