There is little I prefer to the sensation of his planting
two kisses on the top of my head before sleep.
Only now have I realised how funny planting a kiss seems,
as if all kisses are capable of growing,
and if we wake up one day with our pillows full of roses
we'll know that they grew from those night-time kisses
Before the summer I turned seventeen, I was blindly faithful. Afraid sometimes, but not the way I am today, and the fear is misplaced. I know, because the worst is behind me. Back then I couldn't fathom the reasons why I was wanted. When you have no knowledge of why, you feel powerless. For the first time, with him, my intricacies are brought to light. I have felt the very bottom of being and he was always there. Once I was back he could not stop smiling because he'd been waiting for me there.
Now I am confronted with what I try hard not to measure. Feeling one of his hands against the ladder of my neck, his fingertips measuring, calibrating breaths, I imagine he is considering the enormous burden of loving me. He says he is wondering how he became so lucky.
When thoughts clash like that, everything is confused. Maybe that was where the chaos came from. My fascination with the Butterflychaos Theory and continuously imagining all the parallel lifetimes I may have had, and all the small things I have passed by in the world that shaped me into what I am today, that gave me this lifetime instead.