i spit words at her because god, she makes me feel special. i sit and bend my knees so the tip of my feet are touching hers. i touch her lips as the words tangle around her teeth like a twisted telephone line. i see her in my dreams with grass on her thighs and sunsets behind her eyes.
i shake and clench because she is the words scribbled on the back of my hand. she is the pads of my fingers that all aren’t quite alike. she is the feeling of these fingertips across cold walls on hot summer nights.
she isn’t the rain, because god, she’s so much more than that. she is the feeling you get in the back of your throat when you just can’t find the right words to tell her how much you need her and that if she leaves, you’ll never breathe the same again.
if love comes after life and i’m too tired to even write, then how did i get so lucky?
i love her like 3am streetlights on humid july nights. this is where i’m supposed to be.