A Surplus of Light

by Chase Connor

“Because you are more than solace to me.” He said finally, staring back. “You aren’t just comfort or one single need. You’re all of them.

Ian was giving me what he was mentally and emotionally capable of giving me.

Or do you think that, maybe, if it was a person, it would just be humiliated? What do you think trees feel? Do you think they can feel degraded? I felt my anger going away. Do you think anything that is attacked really understands what is happening? Do you think you’d feel better if the tree felt like your hand and you were fine? Do you want to make people physically feel how you feel inside?

Showing kindness is a lot better way to deal with frustration and anger than hitting something. Nobody—nothing—should have to feel the way you feel right now.

“How long have you loved me?”

“Since I saw your heart.”

The real question is when didn’t I know I loved you?”

“Once I knew you existed, well, there wasn’t a time I didn’t love you.”

He smelled like the wild. Like the woods and fields we spent our summers in, the creek that

we held hands in at the end of summer each year. He smelled like the sun. Warm and dangerous.

It topped all of the other enthralling moments I’d shared with him up until then. The anticipation, yearning, unfulfilled desire—it was absolutely intoxicating.

“I’m still…broken.” His lips moved against my ear again. “I’ll put myself back together. For you.”