08-13-2020, 02:34 PM
i think i'm better on my own but i get so lost in you
For the hundredth time she thinks how much easier this would be if he were not so kind.
She looks, as she always does, for a glimmer of anger. An ounce of spite towards her, just the smallest hint that she was pushing him beyond what he could handle. Give me a reason, she thinks, give me a reason to not love you.
He doesn’t, of course.
He is steadfast like a mountain, refusing to crumble despite everything she pushes against him. He is so much stronger than his glass would portray him to be, and even if she pretends to be irritated by this, she is endlessly thankful. She has found someone that she does not deserve, but there is a selfish part of her heart that is so grateful to have him. She wants him to be hers, even if she has not yet learned how to be his.
She could almost forget her mistake when he touches her chest, she could almost get lost in the way her heart starts to beat harder beneath her skin at the feel of him. Almost, but not quite. The guilt is still there, ignored but not subdued; she knows the moment she grants it the attention it craves that it will drown her.
She is quiet when she rests her head against his neck, silent as she simply listens to the familiar softness of his voice, reminded of how words sound different – clearer, lovelier – when spoken from the glass of his mouth. There is a whisper of a smile on her lips at what he says, because she knows their girls are beautiful – perhaps she is biased, but, they still to this day are the prettiest things she has ever seen.
He calls her perfect, though, and she leaves her head pressed against him for another heartbeat before she withdraws with a tense sigh. “I’m not perfect, Thomas. We both know that.” She is suddenly all the more aware of the swell of her barrel, and she thinks this child might just bleed guilt for how much of it she carries with her. She levels her gaze with his, her black eyes unreadable when they search the blue of his own, and she is silent for a long while as she tries to gather her thoughts into words that might make sense. “You know that you deserve better, don’t you?” Is what she settles on, her voice strangely soft, and she holds him in her stare just a moment longer before looking away. “I made a mistake, and I don’t deserve any kind of forgiveness.”
She looks, as she always does, for a glimmer of anger. An ounce of spite towards her, just the smallest hint that she was pushing him beyond what he could handle. Give me a reason, she thinks, give me a reason to not love you.
He doesn’t, of course.
He is steadfast like a mountain, refusing to crumble despite everything she pushes against him. He is so much stronger than his glass would portray him to be, and even if she pretends to be irritated by this, she is endlessly thankful. She has found someone that she does not deserve, but there is a selfish part of her heart that is so grateful to have him. She wants him to be hers, even if she has not yet learned how to be his.
She could almost forget her mistake when he touches her chest, she could almost get lost in the way her heart starts to beat harder beneath her skin at the feel of him. Almost, but not quite. The guilt is still there, ignored but not subdued; she knows the moment she grants it the attention it craves that it will drown her.
She is quiet when she rests her head against his neck, silent as she simply listens to the familiar softness of his voice, reminded of how words sound different – clearer, lovelier – when spoken from the glass of his mouth. There is a whisper of a smile on her lips at what he says, because she knows their girls are beautiful – perhaps she is biased, but, they still to this day are the prettiest things she has ever seen.
He calls her perfect, though, and she leaves her head pressed against him for another heartbeat before she withdraws with a tense sigh. “I’m not perfect, Thomas. We both know that.” She is suddenly all the more aware of the swell of her barrel, and she thinks this child might just bleed guilt for how much of it she carries with her. She levels her gaze with his, her black eyes unreadable when they search the blue of his own, and she is silent for a long while as she tries to gather her thoughts into words that might make sense. “You know that you deserve better, don’t you?” Is what she settles on, her voice strangely soft, and she holds him in her stare just a moment longer before looking away. “I made a mistake, and I don’t deserve any kind of forgiveness.”
i think i'm better on my own but i'm so obsessed with you
desire
