Withdrawal

He tells me to stop.

He hates it when I touch his hair. He says it’s distracting him. But it’s melted silver and a beautiful as the night. And I want to bask in it.

He turns to face me. His eyes are the most beautiful brown I’ve ever seen. Chocolate and coffee. Bittersweet. Big and bright, a gem encrusted in the pearl of his skin.

We are close. 

I can feel his smile.

 I’m afraid he’ll hear my heart’s rapid beating. 

Our hands brush, a gentle touch. 

His skin is as soft as rose’s petals, but as dangerous as its thorns. 

Because I know, I know that if I allow myself to touch, to really feel him, I won’t be able to go back. 

So I withdraw, because in the end, in the end, the only thing that we will have is distance. So I let him dream again, of his future, of her.