“He’s angry because I am so in love with you, and he knows I will never be able to give him that. I do love him, but you,”—I began tracing his face with my fingertips—“you are the feeling I get when new flowers bloom. You are the sound of trees in my forest.” He closed his eyes, leaning into my touch. “You are flames in my palms, warming my entire body.” I touched the tip of his nose with mine. “You are the taste of rum coating my tongue. You are what awakens me when I smell pine. You Are. You surround me, Zeke.”
