The rough, comforting
Callouses, holding my
Own hand.
Your skin touches mine,
Making me feel safe.
And oddly hopeful.
Your tingling fingers grasp mine,
Making me feel happy.
The cells of your skin speak to mine.
My heartbeat increases.
Letters swim through my mind,
Forming words I wish I could say.
But alas, my mouth was not programmed to say these.
I am a fighter, not a lover.
I am not meant for your comfort.
I am not meant for your emotions; your intelligence.
I am not meant for your love.
...I love you.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I decided to post a poem I wrote in between my classes, with a few minutes here and there :) Thanks for reading!
