[ Only. The way those words brighten his eyes isn't
simple, the way it ought to be. Yours, written in ink or whispered flush against skin. Warm breath tucked into the crook of a neck. Fingers, touched now to fingers. All of those things, yes, but something else too, hanging heavy in between. ]
Then I'll tell him.
[ —isn't the same words at all. ]
If he wants me to make a choice, it will be you. It will always be you.
no subject
simple, the way it ought to be. Yours, written in ink or whispered flush against skin. Warm breath tucked into the crook of a neck. Fingers, touched now to fingers. All of those things, yes, but something else too, hanging heavy in between. ]
Then I'll tell him.
[ —isn't the same words at all. ]
If he wants me to make a choice, it will be you. It will always be you.