His body.
His face.
His eyes.
His lips.
Just HIM.
The first time I saw him,
I thought he looked so different from all of them.
Tender, fragile.
Someone who is actually there,
and sees the things that normally go
unnoticed.
Every night, I'd imagine that he was there,
right there next to me,
and that there would
always be a dent in the mattress,
because he had been there the night
before.
Every night,
I'd look forward to those moments,
where he'd be mine,
mine, so I could approach him,
touch him,
kiss him.
He was mine, if only in spirit,
for the night.
His presence would fill the space
that had never been filled,
the one that's been reserved,
for the odd, ethereal feeling.
Love.
Every night, his eyes will see the girl
that is invisible to the rest.
His hands will touch me,
so as that I am sure I am real
as well.
That I am not a ghost,
not someone that can live on a diet
of silence and stares.
I would be his,
and he mine.
