So he told me that he loves me.
and I’m wondering whatever shall become of us.
something in me is screaming, THIS WILL END NO MATTER HOW SPECIAL YOU THINK IT IS.
nevertheless a tiny part of me whispers, (nevertheless), and believes that physics is not always final, that stranger things have happened, that you can get it right the first time…
the lady doth protest too much.
He was the first one to say it with its true stark simplicity. [i was the first to say it at all, but…]
“I love you.”
My stomach knotted in a contraction of fear and joy and awe, for we had moved almost totally from safe water and were now skimming the deep.
He meant it, I think.
I’d written that I loved him so many times before.
I’d imagined so many times how the words would sound.
There is such comfort being in his arms. There is such quiet stability in looking at his eyes and tracing his face and feeling his body move as he breathes.
All I want to do then is lazily lift a hand and stop the turntable of time and consequence and just let the moment last forever.
There is always some part of me that holds back, that remains detached and rational when we’re that close. Emotionally I think I’m losing that aspect.
The closest times I’ve come to falling apart, he’s been there, and his presence helps.