Anton Darius Sollers


I love the way you move. And not just the style you walk, your hand intertwined tightly with mine, but the route you step forward when you’re in the middle of a narrative, almost as if your torso is carrying you unconsciously. I love the way you pull me with you , not by force, but with your ardour. Guiding me, guiding us. I love the way you grab my body and draw me close to you. Not just a simple kiss, but an entire motion. Our lips, our hips, our shoulders, our toes touching. Becoming one.


You make me feel. And I don’t know why I hesitate. I don’t know why I shy away from explaining the behavior our first kiss of the nighttime always feels like an electric shock. Maybe I’m fretted it’ll audio too good, too cliche. Perhaps I’m candidly just hesitating because I haven’t felt this lane about someone in so long. Perhaps it’s a combination of the wine and the style your smile attains the corners of my mouth turn out. But you construct my being buzz. And honestly, I don’t want this feeling to fade.


I’m scared. I’m scared of what can happen from this moment forward. I’m scared of how life will play out and draw us farther from each other , no matter how hard we try to hold on.


I’m scared of the unknown. Scared of the route you feel so comfortable, and how this has the potential to destroy me. I’m scared to tell you that I’m intimidated, though, because I don’t want you to run. I want you to stay.


When I roll over and you’re still asleep, I think about all the life you’ve lived without me–the world you’ve grow up in, the route you’ve strolled, the narrative you’ve written. And I wonder whether I’ll be a sentence or a major character, a line or a chapter. I wonder if I’ll get to grace your pages, write my tale alongside yours.


My favorite thing about you is the way you desire other people. The style you talk to strangers, pet dogs, smile at children. I guess, in some manner, when I see your feelings for everyone else, it attains my nerve full. It attains me see how genuine you are, how much fervour you have to give. And even if I have to share you, I’m content. Because I know that heart of yours is.


I see it–us laughter in a little kitchen of the apartment we bought together. Us celebrating a new year, our fifth, eight, seventeenth together. Us falling into each other and somehow, despite all the crazy odds, it working out.

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