Her hands trace over your body,
And as they move down your neck
The butterflies in your stomach
Melt into a solid mass
Of fear and uncertainty
For what her hands will find…
The scars you’ve tried to hide
In your summer hoodies
And forced affinity for jeans.
Her fingers reach your shoulder,
Burning a trail down your arm,
But the heat it quickly replaced
With an empty regret.
Reflexes kick in, and the tears begin,
Until you realize her hands,
They never stopped.
You expected a shudder,
A slight intake of breath,
But no; she never wavered.
She gave the same affection,
From your head to your wrists.
You know she couldn’t have missed it,
The war you’ve etched into your skin.
Yet she acted as if those scars
We’re just another part of you.
That thought alone
Is enough to make you cry.
You begin to pull away,
But she holds your arm in place.
Her touch is still fire,
And you feel that if she stays
You’ll both end up as ash.
Still, she won’t let go.
Even more so, her lips find your wrist,
And her fire has turned into the Sun.
It’s crazy, because you know,
Those scars are there forever.
They will fade, but never disappear.
But in that moment, you could swear
Those scars didn’t mean a thing.
The anxiety is still present,
But so vastly diminished
It might as well be gone.
And in its place, you find
A feeling you thought
You’d never find again;
The scars weren’t erased,
And who can say if her fire
Will be here to stay,
But for a moment, you weren’t afraid
And if you found it once,
You can find that feeling again.
Who knows; maybe one day
You’ll wake up and see yourself
And realize you’ve always deserved
One thought on ““I loved the way she touched me, the way she ran her hands over my past without reservation.””
LikeLiked by 1 person