“I think about how much you love honey and how allergic you are to honey and how sometimes the things we love can hurt us. I think about how sometimes the things we love can hurt us. I think about how sometimes the things we love can hurt us. I think about how sorry I am about some things.”
When I think of you I immediately think of warmth. Thoughts alone of your incandescence are strong enough to produce a physical sensation of heat. You’re a study in thermodynamics. I think of the warmth you generate; the way your skin radiates, the glowing embers of your heart, and how all of these things have protected me from the cold of the world.
I think of the length of your eyelashes. I think of the weight of your cheek on my cheek. I think of the righteousness of your curves, of tasting bourbon off your lips, the hard allure of your soft confidence. I think of your hair, because, who wouldn’t?
I don’t think about the bad times. I don’t think of misunderstandings, or miscommunications. I don’t think about logistics. I don’t think about pain.
I think of how much strength it takes to be tender. Then I think of how…
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