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And. Oh my god. Have I been flirting back? No. No way. Flirting is telling someone they look nice, or smiling at each other across a room, or anything that leaves a fuzzy feeling in my chest, not— Not heat so intense I don’t think there’s a part of me that isn’t blistered anymore. Not tension so potent it creates its own gravitational pull. That’s not—that isn’t— Oh my god. THAT’S WHAT THAT IS?!
He’s watching me in that absorbed way he’s done a number of times now, like he can listen to my inner thoughts if he focuses hard enough, can see straight into my soul if he wills it.
“I’m not broken. You aren’t in charge of taking care of me.” “Who does take care of you, then? It sure as hell isn’t you.”
“You’re all I’ve been able to think about for weeks. The only thought in my head is what your face will look like when I take you apart—like this, like this right now, you’re perfect.”
“You aren’t an awakening,” I whisper. “You’re the whole dawn. And I can’t believe I ever thought I’d seen the sun before you.”
But I know now that I will not survive without him. So I’d choose him, and myself. Even if it makes no sense. Even if it hurts.”
I can’t believe I thought loving him would be enough.
embracing a happiness so potent that it becomes an immediate counterweight to every dark cloud of anxiety or panic I’ve ever felt. Not erasing them, not numbing them; balancing, so I see myself in a full spectrum between the two extremes, darkness to light and everything in between.
