Short Romance Stories

terrified.

Exactly when it happened is not engrained in my mind.
I don't know if that is because I wanted to push it away, or because it came on so slowly I failed to notice.
I do know that simply being normal is not possible. We have never been close to that.
But I at least thought I would know when it happened. Instead, I can only feel the after-effects, and hope that what I'm experiencing is real and not some crazy delusion.
It's a weird word, love. Four small letters. One syllable. And yet its meaning is so complex that everything seems dull and easy in comparison.
I don't say it enough to my family. I say it too much to my friends. But to him? In that way? How could I?
I throw it around like it's nothing. And yet as soon as I think about saying it to him, my throat closes.  My mouth becomes dry as the desert, and my breathing erratic.
My mind is terrified of what my heart knows. Even my body knows it, and I am still powerless.
Touches that were at one time so unimportant have become dizzying and captivating. The very thing I tried to desensitize myself to has once again become jarring. I don't want to feel calm in his arms the way I used to. I like the rush, the perfect discord it unravels in my mind the second fingers touch skin, the moment warmth envelops me so perfectly. The safety I feel is  countered by the intense adrenaline rush as breath grazes the back of my neck and I can do nothing but move closer. Moments before mouths part and collide, the air between is like a mirage, bending and twisting with energy.
Staring into those eyes is like home. I can see myself in them, glinting back at me from the blue ocean, smiling. So many words are never said with those eyes, so many moments are spent just being. Just looking back into them, seeing myself, and wondering if what I see when I look at them is what he sees. The oceans themselves don't tell me I am enough. But he does. The oceans don't show me the girl he tells me he can see, the girl who is beautiful. I can see me in the oceans. But I can't see her.
He doesn't know that the girl he sees is one that was once lost at sea. Just like he doesn't know how unworthy I really am of him finding her. Just looking at her makes my stomach curl, my fingers clench. I don't deserve to have her standing in the light. But he reminds me of her presence, pushes her further into that swinging yellow glow as she cowers.
He is persistent. But so am I.
He is more beautiful than she is. The way he laughs, with his eyes screwed shut and his chest heaving. The spray of freckles covering his face, his arms, his hands. The way his fingers perfectly lace with mine. The calming and solid beat of his heart as I rest my head on his chest, and the warmth in his eyes whenever he looks at anyone. His quick temper accompanied by his quicker apologies. The way his scent lingers in my hair, on my clothes.
I can't look at him without getting a tight feeling in my chest. I can't touch him without my breath quickening. I can't kiss him without having a constant need for air brought on by my pounding heart.
I am terrified. As soon as I think about saying it to him, I freeze. I am fully aware. But it is the truth. And the truth comes out in some way or another, always.
I am terrified. I have never felt this feeling in this way. It is foreign and strange and I want to shrink back and shove it into the dark recesses of my mind.
I am terrified. I would rather stop and examine my thoughts more clearly, but I am afraid they are as complete as they can be until I admit it. I often feel like it's too soon, that I'm too young, that I'm wrong.
I am terrified.

But I love him.