To Create is How I Live.

Gentle Words, Gentle Hands

He’s whispering in my ear and it’s making my chest tingle - I don’t know if that’s good or bad. Everything around me is so freaking overwhelming: the smell of his sheets, the soft music in the background and his dark body looming over mine.

What’s going to happen next?

I know what’s going to happen next - it’s basic animal biology, for god's sakes. I don’t think I can do it, though; it’s too much to handle. My insecurities are an impossible wall to climb by myself.

I push his hands off - I don’t speak a word but he knows what I’m saying. He knew this was coming - it always ends this way. I’m an open book for him to read - bent pages to hide behind and tape made of fake love to hold the rips together. How he can get joy out of reading the same boring part over and over, I don’t know.

He lies on me; it’s the same thing every time. I say no. He squishes me into the mattress, a tight hug to squeeze out the fear. This never bothers him.

“Are you mad?”

A long silence follows my question. His flushed face calms to his normal half scowl. He isn’t one for many words, preferring a casual shrug to a long excuse. “I love you too much to worry about that. Besides, I think I prefer this anyway.”

The tingles are back. Then tickling my heart like lashes on my cheek trying to blink away the tears. I don’t get it - I’ve never got it how can he say that. This has to be a dream that repeats over and over because love never ever happens like this - a boy who would rather lie here in silence than…

It’s too good to be true, and, yet, I know I love him so much that it would have been better to have never met him than to have him leave now