6.6. Aster, through Moon's eyes
614 Words
I did meet you half way, I did but I don't know why—you were walking towards me Aster and I did what you did, I met you half way.
Half way—no, it hadn't been 50/50 amount of steps I took from the doorframe and you from the vanity—you had also taken two steps ahead of me, 40/60. 70/30, 10/90—whatever range it might be, me the lesser and you the more or me the more with you the lesser—We'd fill eachothers 50 whenever we either couldn't.
I met you, where you let me.
I held you, where you'd let me—where you didn't move away rather sunk into it and wouldn't mind. I held you by your hips as you fixed my hair—a hair was long overdue but I hadn't gotten it.
Aster, as long as you'd fix my hair—stared and admired it the way you did, why the f**k would a haircut be an exclusive need when that need I needed was you. Your fingers tips against my skin, your fingers through my hair.
Why would I.
Aster, you made my skin hot and my stomach uncertain. Why was your hand on my cheek right now, why did I feel the need to lean in—wanting, needing more—more wasn't your hand on my shoulder as well, it barely rested on it.
More was more than that glimmer in your eyes, that smile on your lips as our eyes met—more would be leaning in and pecking your lips, shining with the glimmer from the clear lip gloss—more was staring into your eyes, your hazel eyes burning my soul as I kissed you hand—each finger, one by one, slower than you'd ever endure.
More was rubbing circles around your neck, right where your other beauty mark rested—did you have more, could I find more through your layers of clothing?
More, Aster, was how I felt when Nia opened the door so wide I'd run to you—I'd lift you up and spin your around and tell you how beautifully I couldn't breath nor would I choose to if you going to make me stumble on my word, every glance at you took me by a rage.
Like a carpet pulled right under my feet, I wouldn't be falling to the ground but through you—through your lips I'd have loved to feel, your mint hair I was dying to touch—your existence I would give my devotion.
More would be me, right now, just as you stare into my eyes and caress my check—stare at my like I'm perfection itself, burn my skin—leave traces of your being on me—leave your embrace, your fragrance on me, Aster your lips on me.
You're so breathtakingly gorgeous, you burn into my eyes as a stamp—as pretty as cherry blossoms, sweet like nectar, as enduring as the spring and soft as these emotions.
Aster
I'd probably be drunk on you, if this were more, if we could give more—if this warmth wouldn't be uncertain fire ponds we dabble in, it's burning a wildfire in me.
How so much we look like a couple—what shade of sandals did you wear, I want to take your colour as mine too—a lot more than this.
When did you rest your head on my shoulder, why couldn't I feel you breath until your hand rested on my neck—when were we so close.
"You people make me sick, physically sick."
- Writer
