Punctuation

Dusty Butterfly Wings

I first fell in love with his freckles. 

And then his addicting smile. 

I fell in love with his eyes last... 

because I couldn't bring myself to meet his gaze...

at least, not until I knew the rest of him, 

not until I was comfortable with the way his laugh could reach down into me and rob me of my heart. 

Dusty butterflies panicked inside of me, rapidly beating their wings against the inside of my chest, against my weakening ribcage. 

Or maybe I fell in love with who he was to me before it all. 

Maybe, just maybe I fell for the care in his voice,

the heart in his words, 

the thought in his gestures. 

I could write a love story solely based on the way he looks at me when he knows I'm down and on my way out. 

When he puts my heart back where it belongs, it almost feels as if he's wrapped it in a warm blanket to thaw it out. 

I feel the warmth radiating throughout the entirety of my being. 

I am so warm...

and those butterfly wings are no longer dusty and retired.