is it the way i smile when i hear your name?
or picture you by my side, no matter the season?
as fucking cheesy as it is, – there's a chance –
a small probability –––
––,_–the tiniest possibility–
that i am not made to love you.
you've been to pride.
i could only stay home, bursting at the seams.
trapped in my own skin, afraid.
trapped in my closet.
love isn't about the way i can't help but to stay silent when people say,
"tell me a secret.
something you've said out loud." n e ve r
love is the way i can call you at two a.m., crying ugly things.
love is the way the smell of campfire smoke lingers on my skin after we slept together under the stars