I don’t know why every time his fingers trail my bare waist, I feel much more than just the shiver of intimacy run up my spine.
I try to wander through the corridors of my mind to find out why he feels much more than just someone I make out with.
I cannot help but notice that it’s much more than just his hair that I grab onto now. I often envelop his hands so tightly with mine.
I wake up late into the nights and crave for his lips to be pressed against my neck, and I fall asleep with my hands wrapped around the pillow as if it were him.
I repeatedly catch myself thinking about him as I tie my hair back into the ponytail that he obsesses over.
His voice puts me to sleep like a lullaby for adults, a poetry for the heart.
Whenever he picks me up, and looks me in the eye, I don’t look at his lips while biting mine anymore. Instead, I kiss his nose and his chest, and feel his heart beating against my lips. I think of his smile as his kisses just grazes my midriff.
Why do I get all excited and tensed as he softly tucks my hair behind my ear?
I don’t know.
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