The Most Beautiful Thing in My Mind.

Like Kids.

5.59 am

When I was young, I used to play pretend. Creating unbroken families with pieces of plastic shaped like our images. I moved them accordingly the way I wanted to be, the way I wanted to be treated.

Now I shake when nervous, just like the way your whole body shakes when you laugh, and the way your eyes form crescent moons to tell me everything would be alright.
Everything would be alright.
When I say it'll be ok, it's less of a guarantee and more of an idea of false hope. A shot of alcohol to numb the pain of my fingertips, and to numb the idea that it won't be ok. Maybe we'll never be ok again. One more drink, please.
We danced together and I spun within your grasp. I leaned back and laughed towards the sky like a scream that everyone would hear. I was ok, we were ok. It felt as though together we scarred the sun with our light, and the stars begged us to stop. We couldn't, high on life and drunk on the rushes of a first. A first kiss, a first tattoo (attempt at least), the first feeling of what an actual relationship feels like.
He says it was all just pretend. Like we moved our arms accordingly with eachother to form the unbroken love I dreamed of when I was little.
It was perfect, yet all pretend he says.