On nights when I'd hear the click of a closed door and the familiar pattern of worn feet thumping against floorboards and aching stairs until he appeared at my doorway. A whisper of breath echoed from his lips, carving the warmth around him like smoke.

And I knew when he lay beside me,

Poking joints

And pale skin.

He would find a place in the sinking pressure of my mattress where he'd feel soft, and safe.

And some nights he'd return crying, grasping in the dark for safe hands and crooked smiles. And I'd give them willingly... eagerly.

His hair would shine like burnt honey in the sun, glinting strands like gold so delicate you'd fear they'd break from beauty. Though the color would be lost in moonlight, drowned out by floating stars and canvases of night.

His bare ankles would brush against warm feet and gentle palms against pink-tipped knuckles.

He'd feel cold against me, and the air that surrounded him would forever be touched by grace. And he'd smell like freshly chopped wood and melted snowflakes, painting secret melodies against the bridge of his nose and cupid's bow above parted lips.

And something sweet would follow him, embedded like silk into his freckled cheeks, woven into soft brown eyes, Like yellow roses and sunset fields, they'd linger in his touch, his breath.

I'd always wonder in the morning when the sun had already risen high enough that even the shadows that crept in my room at night burned away. I'd wonder if he was real because he always felt like a dream. But he'd always remind me, with thread-bearing simplicity, that he was.

Flesh and bones,

Beneath my touch.

And we'd swallow the night. and all the words we'd know we'd never say to each other would spill from our eyes and onto our palms.

I'd never forgotten how much he made me feel like a hero,

Destined for tragedy.

So we'd hide behind simple glances and tired laughs, knowing our words would be too raw and would shatter us like glass. But he'd always return in the night, days tumbling into weeks drawn back to the minutes when I'd hold him. And I'd feel the weight of his love against mine. And that would be enough,

he would be enough. 

_____

Art by @Dontstayuptoo1 on Twitter.

Happy Thanksgiving! <3