Your Favorite Memory
Your favorite memory of me and you together is a time before we dated. We were lying in bed together; I curled into your side because the thunder and lightening outside had covered the afternoon sun. And no matter how old I will get, thunderstorms scare the fuck out of me. Seriously.
You kissed my head over and over and I thought nothing of it. You told me to just shut my eyes and take a nap, that and I quote, “Thunderstorms can go fuck themselves because they should be afraid of me.”
You were my best friend, we had trust, and I did.
You never knew that I wasn’t really that scared to the tiny storm outside, that the thunder and lightning was blocked out by the blankets over my head and the heartbeat under my head and your breathing I fell asleep to. Because even then, I wanted you close. unconciously or not.
It was nice.
We were best friends.
We will never have that again.
You kissed my head over and over and I thought nothing of it. You told me to just shut my eyes and take a nap, that and I quote, “Thunderstorms can go fuck themselves because they should be afraid of me.”
You were my best friend, we had trust, and I did.
You never knew that I wasn’t really that scared to the tiny storm outside, that the thunder and lightning was blocked out by the blankets over my head and the heartbeat under my head and your breathing I fell asleep to. Because even then, I wanted you close. unconciously or not.
It was nice.
We were best friends.
We will never have that again.