Part Of Me Wonders If

I Used To Think That When People Fell In Love, They Just Landed Where They Landed, And They Had No Choice In The Matter Afterward. And Maybe That's True Of Beginnings, But It's Not True Of This, Now.

So Small As To Be Negligible. It's Strange, But There's Something In That Thought That Makes Me Feel Almost...free.

Awkwardness Aside, It's Nice To Be Liked.

I Hear Footsteps And Four's Hands Wrap Around My Wrists. I Let Him Pry My Hands From My Eyes. He Encloses One Of My Hands Perfectly Between Two Of His. The Warmth Of His Skin Overwhelms The Ache In My Fingers From Holding The Bars. "you All Right?" He Asks, Pressing Our Hands Together. "yeah." He Starts To Laugh.

But When I Do Feel All The Strength Go Out Of Me, And I Fall To My Knees Beside The Table And I Think I Cry, Then, Or At Least I Want To, And Everything Inside Me Screams For Just One More Kiss, One More Word, One More Glance, One More.