these eyes that drip sleep and crust with dreams.
tracing the veins up legs and down arms.
smooth backs and smoother lips.
this is the moment when you realize its not love, its familiarity.
the smell of her hair that sticks to pillows, the smile in the voice, the holding of hands, the laugh on the other end-
call it love. call it a soul mate. call it a best friend.
but its familiarity.
what if the pretense of the romantic relationship was cut out, and it was just the connection of mind and body?
stare hard enough at her skin to realize its just like yours. just as damaged, used, and wanting of a warm body next to it.
dear reader: find me.
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