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“What matters now is this, he said. He pulled me close, kissed the top of my head. Here, with you. I was so eager to be loved by him, to be held in his arms and reassured, to shut out the ghosts of other girlfriends from the room like a cold draft, I said nothing more. Climbing on top of him, my hand on his chest, an animal warmth. I bent to kiss him and let the damp ropes of my hair drag across his face, his chest. He reached up and moved his hands through it, as if it were light or water. I can see it all over your face, he said. Such naked wanting. I told him that I'd always been afraid of wanting anything so badly that it becomes visible.” — Madelaine Lucas
What matters now is this, he said. He pulled me close, kissed the top of my head. Here, with you.
I was so eager to be loved by him, to be held in his arms and reassured, to shut out the ghosts of other girlfriends from the room like a cold draft, I said nothing more. Climbing on top of him, my hand on his chest, an animal warmth. I bent to kiss him and let the damp ropes of my hair drag across his face, his chest. He reached up and moved his hands through it, as if it were light or water.
I can see it all over your face, he said. Such naked wanting.
I told him that I'd always been afraid of wanting anything so badly that it becomes visible.