Golden Hour

It's not sleeping together that's the problem: it's the staying awake together thats the real killer.

There's something deadly and dangerous and just damn delicious when you stare into each other's eyes and share your darkest secrets between whispers and soft smiles. There's a calculated risk we all take when we open our hearts to someone new, hoping they hold it closely to their own.

The night stretches out infinitely, consistently, like we've done this a thousand times. Lived a thousand lives. Shared a thousand moments.

I love him in the moment between dead and alive; between dusk and dawn; between his half closed eyes and parted lips, and his hand resting delicately on my wrist.

As the sun tears open the darkness, I am lost in this golden hour. Sunken eyes looking longingly at each other until we blink away the darkness and start anew.

There's a killer in this bed, and it's neither one of us: there's a killer in this bed and it's the space between light and dark.

Oh, to be loved by a woman

 Oh, to be loved by a woman:

So beautiful it makes your insides ache and curl around the very last morsel of her.

Oh, to be loved by a woman,

whose eyes you get lost in, caught in her gaze like a fly to a venice flytrap.

Oh, to be loved by a woman:

One touch is like fire and ice burning together on my naked 

Oh, to be loved by a woman.

To have her care so deeply and so infinitely, you will be her whole world and all she asks is you listen and treat her with kindness.

And even if you don't, she will hold on to you so tightly, never letting go. Helping you to grow. Hoping you change. Loving you completely despite the loneliness growing like a stormcloud within her.

She can't help but love the idea of you.

Of all you could be.

Of everything she hopes you already are.

But she does not deserve to love a mere idea, a whisper on the wind; a changing season. 

She deserves to be loved by a man who isn't me.