To you.

There are small things I’ll never tell you. Like how when we lay in bed and you run your hands along my back, regardless of how sore I am, your touch takes the pain away. How when you press your face into my neck, your breath caresses my neck. How when you press your body into mine, every time your heart beats it reminds me that you are real and I’m alive. Not just existing, living. How when you look at me, no matter how dark the room is your eyes shine. They call me like a lighthouse, guiding the lost ship to safety. There are small things I’ll never tell you.

Hate, fear and death. The three things that compose life.