The weakness in his chest.

She was the chill that ran threw him.

              He watched her from afar. Her dark locks corresponding with her tan skin. Her eyes of brown. She was enchanting. The cardigan she pulled around her figure to prevent the frigid air from hurling her made her seem so small, so unprotected. How he ached to hold her in his arms. Her back against his built chest. His fingers trailing across her prominent veins. Kisses he would then deliver onto her skin nearest to her ear. He needed contact with another human being, one that would reciprocate his love. Someone to not uphold him onto a higher platform than they. Her voice, such innocence. 

          He ached to hear it speak his name and other sounds he'd take from her. How he wanted to wrap her in a bundle and steal her from everything. To lie with her and caress the hair away from her well rounded countenance. She spotted him stealing glances at her, she smiled and waved. He froze, she broke him. He didn't know what else to show, he simply nodded and went about doing what he was to do. He couldn't. He couldn't return home without her, he would be damned. He couldn't fathom life without her. He may have just met her, but there were no boundaries. She acted as if she'd known him forever. She brought luster everywhere she traveled. He could deal with the media and others another day. Today, his objective was her. Everything was her. His life was now devoted to her. No one compared. Nothing else mattered, it seemed. Her age, race or ethnicity. Nothing but her. He needed her. 

       How he longed to return home on solemn nights and have her there, awaiting for him. Her fingers through his light strands. Her lips devoted to his skin and no one else's. All of this, and he had just met her. It would seem that life held her in his life, awaiting discovery. She laughed as he was then again lost within her grip yet again. He had to speak to her. He walked over to where she stood. She froze, what would he want from her? He was gracious. Amazing. A man of many works. 

     The large callouses on his palm made her ache for them to hold her. She imagined herself lying awake at night, his hands overlapping her figure. Her legs enticed with his. And through her night terrors, he would soothe. How he longed for her. His heart coveted to make her his and his only. To whisper sweet nothings into her ear. To be the only one to perpetuate her vulnerability, to break through her wall and claim the territory as his. He simply wanted to love her, but perhaps that couldn't describe what he felt. It wasn't a small lint of limerence. It was true devotion. He felt limerence towards his past lovers, but her, well she was an entire different story. She was unlike the rest, nothing was forced. Nothing was faked, everything of an organic origin.