between two lungs ✿ florabella

between two lungs

I was only a kid to you when we first met. Barely 20, freshly dropped out of university, with a dark fringe covering my eyes. I was only a kid to you, but you offered to make music together sometime. I was only a kid to you, but you kissed me back when I got drunk and pulled you into a bathroom stall because I couldn't stop thinking about your lips. I was only a kid to you, but you took me home that night and, in the morning, when I pretended I didn't remember the previous night and its events, you went along and didn't mention it either. I did remember it, though. I still do. I remember the feeling of your face between my thighs and the soft kisses you traced over the skin of my abdomen and the feeling of regret I felt later for not telling you that morning how badly I wanted you for myself.

As our second tour was coming to an end and our age difference was no longer that prominent, we knew every inch of each other's bodies. We never did it sober, though. I think I was addicted to you, not the alcohol. The booze was just an excuse to touch you, kiss you, make you moan my name in the middle of the night and then blame it on the drinks in the morning. I wanted you all the time, so I drank all the time. It was hard for me to come to terms with falling for you, so an excuse was very welcome. It never occurred to me that my feelings may be reciprocated. I can't imagine what you must've been feeling, knowing I had to get hammered before letting you touch me. I can never make it up to you for that. I'm sorry.

You did the right thing by moving away. At the time, it felt like my heart was being ripped out of my chest and stomped on, but God knows where I'd end up if I didn't get sober. And I would not get sober with you around, that's for sure. Your departure made me realize what I used to have before you left, even if you were never really mine.

I did get sober, and I came to terms with being in love with a girl. When I released High as Hope, I invited you over to listen to it. I went to make dinner and left you to hear the album for the first time alone. After forty minutes, you came to the kitchen with your thick eyeliner slightly smudged. You only hugged me and whispered, "It's beautiful, Flo," into my ear and left me wondering if you picked up on all the hidden (and not so hidden) love notes to you that I left scattered throughout the record.

After, we watched a film and then decided it only made sense for you to sleep over since it was well over midnight. As we got into bed, I asked if I could hold you (and prayed the situation wouldn't get weird). You said with a grin that you expected nothing less, which made me blush. I don't know if you noticed in the dim room. I wrapped myself around you and pressed my nose into the nape of your neck. It was my first night without nightmares in years.

The same couldn't be said for you, I thought to myself when I woke up a few hours later with you trembling in my arms, trying to hold the sobs in. Without thinking, I kissed the spot behind your ear and asked what had upset you. You asked me about The End of Love. Oh, I thought. So you did notice. I told you about how I realized I was in love with you when I was writing songs for the third album. I told you about how I thought about ending my life because I felt like there was no way out of the despair I was in. I was in love with you and didn't know if you even liked me like that, I felt behind in my life with having succeeded everything but nothing at the same time. I told you how it's always been about you, from Falling to Drumming Song to How Big, How Blue, How Beautiful to Hiding to High as Hope in its entirety. As I was talking, you turned in my arms to face me. You traced my lips, my chin, my cheeks, and my nose with the softest touch of your fingertips. When I fell silent, you leaned into me without hesitation and pressed your lips to mine. It made perfect sense to me. Your fingers were between my legs in no time, tracing patterns into my flesh as if those years in-between had never happened. I kissed you back and I had never felt more at home.

-

"Is this one about me?" You ask as you pull your headphones off.

I lean over to your side of the couch to see your screen. The Bomb. I smile. "Yes and no. I wanted it to be about me from your perspective. Does that make sense? I felt awful about those years I couldn't shag you if I hadn't drunk half a bottle of vodka beforehand. I was awful to you. But the part about beautiful hands is definitely about your hands."

You smirk, but I see tears pooling in your eyes. You put your headphones back on.

Somewhere halfway through Morning Elvis you climb into my arms and hide your face in my neck. Your warm tears run down my skin under my shirt.

"I love you so much," you say to me with teary eyes and a smile after the album ends. You don't have to tell me your thoughts on the album.

I love you too. I always have. Always will.