The touch, although it brings with it a sensation of nervous delight, it leaves an after taste of longing, an absence of a necessary component in happiness. Touching you feels as though I'm doing what I was meant to do, balanced and refined, perfect and complete. Lust accompanies the touch, sometimes it's small and barely there, sometimes it is a crash of intense ecstasy but then switched to painful sorrow when it can't be accounted for. It's the bend of your knees towards me indicating trust that sets me on fire, it's the familiar tickle of peach fuzz on your cheek brushing my neck that sets me a flame, it's the fact that although I cannot see you, I know you're smiling into my chest that burns me alive. However, the fact that I am not able to eternally smile back is what turns me to ash and wisps me away, the ever present thought that my happiness is bound to you and there is no room for my say in it, that I, am stuck with these feelings, these emotions, these words that I can only say so many times in different collections of the same sentiment. And the knowledge that I, could carry on this way forever, is what terrifies me the most. The idea that I am perfectly able to continue through my life with a love that I cannot control, that is so beyond me, it's shocking. I still live this way, and will live this way forever. I'm okay with being the milk-and-water lover who falls in love with everything I touch. What is really terrifying, what shakes me, what I can barely grasp for myself, is that you've offered to stay with me, while I am, just that. The touch is what sets me a flame, but you, you truly sweep up the ash of something old, and replaced it with a ivory tower of my utter dedication to you.
