breddy nocturnes

five ways to fall in love

In everything you hold in harmony with your heart, after the troubles you've fought beneath and the solaces you've hidden in together, the last fifteen years—you believe there's five ways to fall in love. It all comes down to him in the end, really: you love him, and he loves you.

It's the way your eyes settle and soften only at his appearance, ever lighted upon the naturalness of someone familliar, that warm and fuzzy feeling of home: brown windswept hair, twinkling eyes behind golden frames, that cloudless smile. How your breath catches when these hallmarks show themselves as something beautiful—that's a way to fall in love, is it not?

It's the fact that you've always been the one to listen to the colour of his music blossom and ripen over the years: you've watched him unfetter the notes and relax into the way he reaches for you through the violin's strings and fingerboard. You've watched him memorize both glacial and warm concertos alike, the impressionistic pieces he plays for you. It's flowered itself in your bones, a cradle for the sweet ache within your ribcage.

It's that loving way you touch eachother: how he laces his fingers through yours so the warmth of the sun comes alive in the crevice where your palms meet, how you lie close to him in the untroubled haven of his embrace. Your lips on his are like the clouds, soft and gentle as if they'd disappear in just a caress of a breeze softer than silk. The feel of his lips against yours is like the sun, heat and devotion shifting your senses and swaying your soul like it's the end of the world.

It's the sweet intonations wedged within every fiber of his being, defined into mountains of care and comfort and all the ways he loves. Caring, how he holds you afloat when you're ill and drowning beneath the covers, how his voice keeps your feet on the ground when he asks softly, "is everything okay?"

Loving, how you come home to two mugs of warm tea and his homely embrace, how he looks at you over the rim of his mug with glittering eyes. A good talker and listener, how he voices his thoughts so eloquently, and then how his eyes and ears are all yours when you speak, like your words are the sweetest music he's ever heard.

It's the flowers upon flowers of memories you've shaped together, the vivid, sun-kissed moments you've eased into within eachother's lines of sight: bringing your music to perfection in the practice room together, holding hands when the streets are quiet, his shrieks of laughter as you play video games together. From this close, you see the sun dancing in his eyes and teasing them honey-gold, and yes, this is what you live for.

It's everything. He's everything.

(In everything you hold in harmony with your heart, after the troubles you've fought beneath and the solaces you've hidden in together, the last fifteen years—you believe there's five ways to fall in love. It all comes down to him in the end, really: you love him, and he loves you.)