He’s all of my tingles and butterflies.

Picture: moodygrams

Despite all the burns that I’ve been through, his fire seemed different to me. Like the one which lights up the fire place on a cold winter night. Like the warmth of the sun on a Sunday morning which seeps into your room as you open the curtains to gaze into the sky.

And for a split second, I can forget all my cold winter nights where I waited for a pleasant touch to drive me back to summer but winter had other plans for me.

He brings happiness to my heart and for the first time in a while I am ready to dance through the rainstorm, wash away with tides, drown into his love and be back home with winds.

He’s all of it, my air, my fire, my water and my earth. He’s my wishing stars and all of my wishes coming alive. He’s my poems and all my fictional characters breathing into air. He’s the laughter that escapes me when we judge people. He’s the wrinkles that covers my face when I enter into my last gasping days. He’s all of my tingles and butterflies.

He can make me lose it all on him yet I will find myself entangled in his blankets the very next morning when I wake up. And no matter how insane he makes me feel I can always be unreasonable yet sensible with him.

Come what may, his lips always find a way to bring mine home and his hands always find a way to let my hair breathe.

So I wished upon his astral eyes that my moon may never leave his stars and his stars may never leave our sky.