soon.

xxvii.

̶ ̶ xxvii. UNTIL WE MEET AGAIN.

he's painted gold, bronzed a deep brown that match the color of his eyes. a god with glossed over lips and flushed red cheeks. man of many features, one's that scared gay men straight. with so much power at the end of his fingertips, he offered nothing less than peace. flowers stuck in his hair, nails a matte violet. he took his time, clipped the thorns off of rose buds, handing them to the cold and hoping to turn them into something more than stone of hatred. he was the ocean tides, the fresh rain on the first day of spring, the heat of the sun kissing your skin softly.

he loved me more than God ever could,
doesn't that mean anything?

[ i hope to be as 
gracious as him one day. ]