Traitor
no control.
So we’re in the car, and he reaches over with those long fingers, tucks an errant strand of hair behind my ear, and I lean into it, lean into the feeling and the warmth, until he pulls it away and I’m left with a cold cheek and a lump in my throat
I jump when he grabs my hand, lacing our fingers together over the gear shift. I don’t look down.
“Hey,” he says lowly, and I offer him a smile, the private kind that should follow with a brush of my lips against the back of his hand. That should follow with a shiver.
I don’t let go.
Right then, I know I could say, "I can’t breathe under the weight of you," but I know that he wouldn't care, that he wouldn’t accept it anyway. So he drives and I ignore the fact that with every mile the punctured feeling in my stomach grows. I’m just waiting for him to notice.
I lean against the window, breath fogging up the glass.
I'm just waiting for him to notice.
I jump when he grabs my hand, lacing our fingers together over the gear shift. I don’t look down.
“Hey,” he says lowly, and I offer him a smile, the private kind that should follow with a brush of my lips against the back of his hand. That should follow with a shiver.
I don’t let go.
Right then, I know I could say, "I can’t breathe under the weight of you," but I know that he wouldn't care, that he wouldn’t accept it anyway. So he drives and I ignore the fact that with every mile the punctured feeling in my stomach grows. I’m just waiting for him to notice.
I lean against the window, breath fogging up the glass.
I'm just waiting for him to notice.