So we’ve had this thing going on for a while now.
You dial me up four nights a week, and I come over to yours. Sometimes your hands wrap around my body, leaving trails of fire on my skin. Sometimes your lips skitter over my hair, my cheeks, my neck, mouthing words I’ll never understand.
We speak different languages, you see.
For you- you are skin and bones and flesh sewn together with dreams for the future. I am grey walled sharp-tongued fantasy mortared with iron will.
Who am I to take away your color?
“I love you,” you breathe into the shell of my ear. Your stubble scrapes against my skin and your fingers wrap against my waist. Sometimes I could swear tears well up in your eyes when you throw your head back and we fly together.
“I don’t understand,” I reply to you.
“And I don’t understand why you’d waste your time on me, either.” I say indignantly as you laugh and draw a blanket over us, with your amber eyes glinting in the moonlight.
“You will,” you promise.
And I do.
Six months later, as I lie in the same bed, alone, with tears cutting trails into my cheeks and belated love blooming at last, I finally do.