You are the gentle thumb sweeping across the back of my hand.
You are clutching my fingers in your hand, the reassuring squeeze.
The goosebumps of a warm rain on a cold night.
You are emanating love.
* * *
It was a strange and beautiful weekend. I learned you didn’t think too much of yourself, that you really were scared because of what girls had done to you in the past. My hurt hurt. You need to know what I think of you, drunk and sober. The kindest I had ever met. The most beautiful soul to experience. I want to love your pieces back together.
You must have hit your head pretty hard because you told me you love me.
I was running around, wishing for clones as I searched for your dog, searched for a bag of ice, searched Google about head injuries.
I borrowed your clothes, a simple “this is what I want” smile crossing your face. Like you’d found peace you didn’t know I could give you. Like everything was as it should be, with a bandage on your bleeding skull and a beautiful girl in your baggy clothes.
Cleaning your wound, purging my own. I didn’t sleep a wink, and I’m glad you woke up. Though you should’ve let me take you to the ER.
You were appreciative the next day. You called me your little nurse, and I couldn’t help but smile.
You wore a horrible suit for a themed party and you loved it, exclaiming “I’m getting married in this!” Tina turned to me and said “don’t marry him if he wears that.” I blushed because she thought it would happen, like she knew his love for me.
Appreciative, apologetic kisses tickled me all the way home. I slept.