How Did I End Up on His Couch With My Buttons Undone
the intentions of a boy with a scar on his collarbone
His name didn’t matter, his age didn’t matter, his past troubles didn’t matter.
What mattered was his time on this earth.
The way his breath would sync up with my heart beat, the way his hands traced the curve of my spine, the way his voice silenced itself into a whisper when it rested in the cape of my neck.
His eyes mattered; the way they could stare through me in a glance. The way they could light up a blank night sky if they matched his smile at just the right moment.
His smile mattered. It could send spirals of warm chills through any person willing to be awakened.
He always knew what he was doing, and I always knew what he was thinking. Maybe I thought his intentions were always clear, and maybe it seemed like I was always a step ahead of him, but maybe it was suppose to be like that.
His thoughts seemed to run through my mind before he would say them out loud, but I never really minded.
Maybe that's what love is actually suppose to be like. Maybe it was knowing what he was going to say before he did.
Maybe his dreams became my inspirations. Maybe his thoughts became my spoken words. Maybe his voice became my song. Maybe his heart became my mind. Maybe his movement became my dance. Maybe his shadow became my light.
And maybe his love became anyone else’s but mine. And maybe I was actually a step behind the whole time.
Or maybe those were always his intentions.
