youâre more than youâre letting yourself be, he says, quiet, but certain.
your hands shake and you call it weakness. trust is a faraway thing for anyone, even the ones youâve known for years. youâre scared; of hurting, of being hurt.
he isnât scared of anything, or so you thought once upon a time.
youâve learned heâs scared of being alone, but nowadays what he seems the most scared of is losing you and that those arenât necessarily the same things.
you donât understand the way he clutches your hand the way he cradles your cheek looks at you like you didnât rip him apart. like you somehow have power over him.
iâm sorry is a constant message in his hands, pressed against your own handing you water fingers sliding gently across yours.
you donât understand and clearly he doesnât either. but when he leans up, (he is shorter than you and you are always surprised) and cradles your face it doesnât matter that you donât understand. it doesnât matter that there are things youâre both working out.
he presses his mouth to your damaged one and you have never been so afraid. but as the nervous moment leads to nervous laughter you think that maybe sometimes being afraid is okay.
as long as heâs with you, you know that being afraid and being in danger arenât the same things anymore.
               â he promised to keep you safe, and you believe him, l.b.
