II. sharpnels

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You’re a place where I could shelter myself from the shrapnel of life. I’ve bumped our shoulders, purposefully knocked elbows to misdirect. I was still primed for flight or fight.

But there's heat enough here to slow the both of us down, and I need this, I realize, like sight lines, like a gun, like the burn of air in lungs too-long starved.

If a take-down's coming it won't be in the dark or a plausible accident. It'll come with all the world watching, in pursuit of a heart, in the bright-white glare of midday's plain sight.

There's no way to dodge the force of this affection – no cover, no shield. All you can do is to meet it head on, sink down into the warmth of it, close your eyes and rest there, found.

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