Right person wrong time turned into right person second chance- or maybe third or fourth; regardless it’s a chance I won’t pass by again. Not when the names he gives me give me butterflies, and the way he holds me close to protect me from crowds makes me feel safe, and his laugh sounds through my ears like an intimately sweet lullaby. Looking at him, at his long black hair and pale skin that night- the moon casting a shine over his piercings- made me feel as if I were admiring just another painting at the museum he took me to because I said I liked art and late night drives. He may never read this; this may still fail, and I may push him away because of our different expectations, but for this ephemeral moment I will enjoy his presence as more than a friend but not quite a lover, for the first and perhaps the last time in nearly a decade.
With love,
XX
