whispers so soft, they were never spoken.

i am the floor you can't fall below.
i am the white noise you cling to when actual sound is more than you can handle.
i don't want to hear you,
i want to feel you.
i am the unstable surface your waves crash down on under a million-colored sky we've breathed under a million times before.
i am a field of sunflowers you lie in to swalllow your emotions and pretend to glow.
you pretend to glow and i count the lines in the presence of your anatomy. all of your
dips and
turns and
creases and
spots and
shades and
pieces.
they keep me awake for hours, begging me to touch them.
and the blue lines i can trace over your entire body, under your traslucent skin. under
scrapes and
scars and
dirt and
hair and
under your smell. that smell.
i don't want to hear you,
i want to feel you.
for every one of your
curls and
slants and
straights,
i've counted every one a hundred times before.
your waves crash down on my unstable surface and i watch you pretend to glow and i watch your chest
rise and fall,
rise and f
a
l
l.
and i feel your heart.
rhythmic and
steady and
strong and
hard.
and at night,
in the dark,
next to your heartbeat,
i don't hear the rain outside the window,
i feel it.
and it trickles down on me,
it tip-toes down on me,
cold and
clean and
silent.
and it washes away my
doubts and
sins and
fears and
insecurities.
and i am
clean and
pure and
fresh,
but i could never hold a candle to your presence.
and i watch your chest
rise and fall,
rise and f
a
l
l
through a blurred sense of vision,
through a stained-glass window,
through a prism of colors,
through a smoke screen.
and you are no less perfect than you ever were.
abd you are no less beautiful than you ever were.