You fell in love with a boy with half broken bones, with damaged hands you couldn’t hold.
You fell in love with the ocean he hid between his ribs, disguised as a stream. You’d drink salt water from his palms if he asked and still kiss him with the raw red of your mouth, like the horizon kisses the curve of the world.
He fell in love with a boy with sulphur in his veins, with a laugh like glass, sharp enough to the touch that the edges burn.
He fell in love with your sunburst soul, half-blinded by the brightness you tried to hide, but you cannot lie to a boy who built his whole life around restraining the truth, and even at your darkest he never believed you were the black hole left behind when a star died.
He has met black holes and supernovas alike and neither could compare to the last flicker of a flame you shelter between your teeth.
His kisses never steal it, only coax it closer to life. Every touch of his fingers is oxygen blooming in your blood. You learn how to be light, how to let warmth into your smile, and he learns that fire doesn’t always hurt when it burns.
YOU FELL IN LOVE WITH A BOY WHO LOVED YOU BACK // l.s.