Love always felt explosive, like two amateur cars screeching on the F1 track and ending up kissing crimson flames. My heart has survived those fatal catastrophes, stared at the hospital walls, terrorized by phantom pains for quite long . But when his fingers untangle the matted strands of my brown hair, my chest tightens with a collision again " a different kind " . Like two opposite planets treading their path into an explosion of beautiful lavender haze, of a rare cosmic event.
His gaze softens at my burnt skin and scars which I wear like screaming neon signs warning of tragedies. My body shrinks like a petrified prey as I am a mere vessel of shame, always bracing myself to watch him escape like a prison break. But he doesn't; instead, he presses his mouth into mine like he is editing a poem, removing every word that hurts too much to say out loud. So my wrenched heart finally pleads with him not to spare me any sympathy as it yearns for his love only. His hands cup my face cautiously like I'm a delicate glass ball ready to slip out of his hands and shatter into a million shards. Then whispers “ Love must come from acceptance first, from embracing even those withered parts that keep you awake at night ". All the troubled breaths I clutched to my chest finally slithers out and his gaze still very much unflinched .
How can this be? Someone finally loves me with both hands and no exit plans. My anxieties have made me rummage secret exits, but I find no maps floating in his honest eyes . His vision is a crystal blue sky with the sun of his affection burning bright. I wonder if that's what love is meant to feel like, full of flames but not lethal and gently warm on my scarred face.
