Little Things
I love the particular shade of her eyes are. I could stare at them for an age and never become bored. I see so much there, because those little blue stars show me everything. Her eyes are just incredibly expressive.
I adore the way that she runs her hands up and down my back, along my hips, as if she's just remembering the little places where her hands fit perfectly. I cannot forget the few times that she's brushed my hair for me, gentle and self conscious, trying so hard not to hurt me. I remember all the times she's rubbed the back of my neck or spent long minutes-- maybe hours, sometimes it's hard to differentiate- working to get the painful knots out of my muscles. I remember all the times she has just wrapped me up in her arms, holding me like I was the most precious and wonderful thing that she could have imagined.
I love it when she holds my hands, and will thumb wrestle with me just because. Or the way we can sit and play with our fingers together, twining and intertwining them, letting them slide from being interlocked to just touching at the tips. I marvel at how lost in those moments I can become, where it isn't anything in particular, but the whole scene just seems to wash over me, and the world just disappears, and all that is left is she and I. I wonder at how it is the accumulation of all the little things that seems to make time and reality fade away, until nothing else exists but her fingers and palms playing with mine, and the soft smile that hovers beneath and reflects in those sweet gems beneath her brow.
I adore the way that she runs her hands up and down my back, along my hips, as if she's just remembering the little places where her hands fit perfectly. I cannot forget the few times that she's brushed my hair for me, gentle and self conscious, trying so hard not to hurt me. I remember all the times she's rubbed the back of my neck or spent long minutes-- maybe hours, sometimes it's hard to differentiate- working to get the painful knots out of my muscles. I remember all the times she has just wrapped me up in her arms, holding me like I was the most precious and wonderful thing that she could have imagined.
I love it when she holds my hands, and will thumb wrestle with me just because. Or the way we can sit and play with our fingers together, twining and intertwining them, letting them slide from being interlocked to just touching at the tips. I marvel at how lost in those moments I can become, where it isn't anything in particular, but the whole scene just seems to wash over me, and the world just disappears, and all that is left is she and I. I wonder at how it is the accumulation of all the little things that seems to make time and reality fade away, until nothing else exists but her fingers and palms playing with mine, and the soft smile that hovers beneath and reflects in those sweet gems beneath her brow.
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