Adore


He loved me, but he never said it. He never had to, because love doesn’t take “not now” for an answer, and it doesn’t shut up simply because a tongue won’t form three syllables. I still heard it.

It was in his raspy tone, and it was in the way he looked at me like I could blot out the sun. Blue eyes, huge and beautiful, begging me to dream with him.

He never had to tell me, the cold wall pressed against my back said it, as I tasted him with so much more than just my mouth.

It was murmured in the pressure of lips on my neck, and it was written in the braille of goosebumps up my leg.

 It was glittering in tears the night we tried to lay the whole thing down, because the unspoken can scream too loudly. You could hear it in my choked sobs, as I realized,

That he was the one who never said he loved me, because he was the only one who did.

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