Comfortable

Love is still strange to me.
The raindrops that caress my face in the first shower,
The familiar contours of a pencil between my fingers,
The dusty smoothness of an old book cover under sweaty palms,
They are things I’m familiar with,
Things I find comfort in.

This love is not comfortable.
Every moment awake, I feel strange.
It is always at the back of my mind,
The thought of him,
Of what we are hiding from the world.
Thoughts of my stomach tingling when I see him.
The strange need for him,
To be close to him,
To always maintain physical contact when he is next to me,
As though he is my anchor.

It is not comfortable.
And I am in love nevertheless.

-A

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s