My light at the end of the tunnel is not white and blinding.
Mine is hazel and warm.
Surrounded by thick and long eyelashes that flutter at my slightest of touches.
Connected to a long narrow road that crinkles at my awkward silence.
Flares out into channels of pink softness that caress mine with utmost passion and tenderness.
He is not just the light to my way out . He is my saving grace.
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A/N: this is way below mediocre.
