Can I get a kiss?

Reminder to Click for Palestine today!

I am sat (⁠.⁠ ⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠)

how he actively chooses some articles you can wear—this shirt or these pants, with this bag or this jewelry. darling whatever it is, you are beautiful, but he just loves that you’re wearing something he likes.

how he helps you put on your shoes. he’ll kneel on the floor and place your foot atop his thigh, callused palm massaging the length of your tibia before dipping down to slip your shoes in.

how he just grunts through the tremors and numbness of his hands, insisting that he be the one to clasp your necklace together. you sit there, quiet, watching him from the mirror. you track the furrow of his brows, the downturn of his lips; you gaze at the lines on his face, noting how they’re softer under the orange lights. he looks handsome like this, caring for you even when you know that the multiple surgeries done to his hands have rendered little clasps like the ones on your jewelry his enemies.