If there's a million men at your door loving you, I'm in the crowd, watching those idiots gathering in your garden, under the scorching Sun. If there's one man at your door loving you, that's me. If there's no man at your door loving you, that means I'm already gone from this existential plane, because there's no sane reason I'm not at your reach in this life.
In my dreams, you wear nothing besides light, this intangible light covering you, this magic and sacred veil around you. In my dreams you say how beautiful we are, how we are so capable of growth, so capable of change, so capable of love. For me, you are all of this. My growth, my change, my love. In my dreams you take my face between your hands. It's so soft. Your fingers dance on my cheeks, like feeling if I'm real. I am real, I'm sure I am. I couldn't feel such feelings for you, my heart wouldn't call your name like it does if I wasn't real. You make me sure I'm real. But are you? I can't believe you are. My heart calls for you so certainly that I doubt you're real. Is this real? The way it feels so right when my eyes meet yours? The way my hands fit into yours, like I'm built for you? The way your words feels like daggers in my chest but the most beautiful sonatas to my ears? No, you cannot be real...
blakekathryn
andulkaphoto
kianamaiart
germansingergirl
areudirty
dededos
izzy806
