I was never scared that you were dying. I was scared that you wouldn’t be here when I needed you, but you were – I just couldn’t touch you.

I loved you, I did. I believe I even sold myself a bit: on your love, my lust, your hair and just the way we stood there. How the air smelled of you, the way your shirt was cursed with blues. The way we danced by the ocean in front your mini-garden. The white fence, your loveliness and the heavenly kisses. It’ll always be the sheets, lying beside, holding your arm and kissing your hair in a loving stride.

drafts on your skinwords of your necki’m spinning in heavencaressing in hellwe’re dancing as ifwe're the only oneshere

It seemed like you had the world at your fingertips, but I guess what I missed was how you bit your lip at every question.

I pushed him against his Jeep, looked him dead in the eye and kissed him. He asked if he could come up, and I just walked up the steps and said, not yet. That was the moment I knew I loved him.

I couldn’t sleep without you. Not because I needed you, but because your body was a temperature I was used to being next to.

And I touch. Not because I want to feel, but because I’m looking to see if this is real.

Losing someone doesn’t scare me. Death doesn’t scare me. What scares me is the inability to no longer feel the touch of the one you love.

He grabbed my hand and that’s when I felt my heart beat for the very first time.