Picking Up The Pieces

DON'T THINK

DON'T THINK

Don't think about the way it would feel to enter his room, the desert would be jealous of the heat it provides.

Don't think about the way you navigate through his depression-messy piles of clothes, empty pop cans, and ever present rock collections.

Don't think about how as you slide off your shoes and sit on his bed, waiting for him to settle himself by the wall on the other side of you.

Don't think about how as you both settle in, you feel the familiar ache in your chest to touch him, to show him your appreciation of his smooth skin and the rough stubble on his chin.

Don't think about how you eventually cave to the ache and curl into him, and in response feel his gentle, feather-light touch tangle through your hair.

Don't think about how safe this makes you feel, like you're protected from everyone while you're with him.

Don't think about how well your head fits into the niche between his shoulder and chest, how in that position your heart rate speeds up listening to his fast pulse.

Don't think about his smell, and how the pheromones he releases drives you nuts, especially as he turns to his side to hug you closer.

Don't think about your longing to just press your lips against his, because as you refuse to make the first move, your will could crumble to dust at any minute.

Don't think about how as you look up at him, you find that he's already leaning in because your heart will leap to your throat and pound there at speeds that a hummingbird's wings could never hope to mimic.

Don't think about the fluid way his lips move against yours, with just enough strength to convey his dominance, passion, and hesitance all at once.

Don't think about how the passion escalates into more, don't think about the carnal pleasure your body will yearn for as you press your body against his, don't think about his all-too-eagerness to respond to your touch.

Don't think about him, because he doesn't feel the same.